Sinister
by Sheherazade's Fable
Summary: Sequel to "On a Beach in Cuba." Spoilers for X-Men: Apocalypse. As the days go on, the X-men's search for Moira becomes increasingly desperate, leading to a risky undercover mission led by Mystique. They're not the only players in the game though, one which has been going on for far longer than they realize. Charles/Moira. Canon pairings.
1. Chapter 1

Every day, there was a moment when Kevin was able to forget what was going on. He'd identified it as a split second before he woke up, the second before he twitched his eyelids. That was the moment when he was still in a world where his mother was coming back in a few days.

Then, something happened to remind him that, no, she was gone. Kevin wasn't sure what exactly it was that reminded him, only that it's there, and it's strong. So very strong. Strong enough to make him want to stay in bed all day, a weight on his chest.

For the past seven days, Kevin had woken up exactly the same. He'd often reach out to Charles then, hoping something had changed in the night. It never had, but it felt good to have someone there with him, even if it was only in his head.

But, as he looked at the clock, he knew he couldn't. It was reading 4 a.m., and he knew Charles would be resting. At least, he hoped he would. Every day he saw Charles he was looking harried, more stressed. Dark circles stood out under his eyes, and Kevin heard he'd cancelled a few of his classes.

Even at the worst times in her career, Kevin had never seen his mother so stressed. If she had when his father had tried to kill her, then he couldn't remember. All he could remember was the paleness of her skin contrasted to the green hospital gown, the swathe of bandages around her neck.

He drew his knees up below his chin, cuddling beneath his blankets. He wanted to cry, but whatever tears he'd cried had been absorbed by Charles's shirt that first night. Since then he'd only been able to feel the pain in dull, heavy waves.

He'd kept up with what was happening, more than they knew. He'd searched out Charles with his mind the day after he'd been told the news about his mother, found him talking to Hank and Uncle Levine. He'd seen how bad his uncle was, withdrawing as though he'd been burned after seeing the bloody bandages, hearing his uncle's angry tone.

When he'd been able to talk to his uncle later that day, he'd been cleaned up. Kevin wondered why they wanted to sanitize things for him, and it made him angry. He was a child, true enough, but he knew his mother was in terrible danger. Whoever had taken her had seriously wounded Uncle Levine. These weren't people who would play nice now that they had her.

He clenched his hands in his blankets, squeezing his eyes shut. There had been no news of his mother, no whisper. Uncle Levine had gone back to Virginia, swearing he'd use all of his old contacts, call in any leftover favors, cash in every debt anyone had ever incurred.

But it wasn't yielding any information. Charles hadn't even been able to find her in the same way that he'd found Kevin. He bit his lip, squeezing his eyes shut tighter. Who were these people who'd taken his mother away? Did it have to do with her job? Did they know what they'd done, that she was needed? Did they even care?

He didn't think so. That meant he wouldn't care about them, no matter who they were. He hoped no one else did either when they found them. He hoped they understood what he was feeling every morning when he woke up and the crushing pain was back-

 _Kevin?_

Kevin opened his eyes a crack.

 _Charles?_

 _Kevin, I'm hearing some thoughts that some of the paintings are rattling in the halls. Are you alright?_

He pulled his blanket over his head and took deep breaths. Now that he wasn't so lost in his thoughts, he could hear the noise. With a bit more concentration, there was silence.

 _I'm sorry,_ Kevin said, _I didn't know I was doing that. And I'm okay, just thinking._

 _No, don't be sorry. But you shouldn't be up this early Kevin._

 _Neither should you,_ said Kevin.

A warm, sad chuckle echoed through his mind.

 _Well, I'm older than you. I can handle it better._

 _Don't get yourself hurt,_ Kevin said, _Mom wouldn't like it._

He bit his lip. Part of him wanted to ask what Charles was thinking and feeling, but he knew that too well. He saw his pain every day, and not just in the dark circles, but in the lines on what had once been a smiling, gentle face.

It was still gentle, but it no longer smiled. And yet, when Kevin reached out, he would be there to tell him to stay strong. When he talked to him, he never seemed to have any doubts.

Kevin still doubted, but having someone believe it would all work out often gave him strength.

 _I wouldn't like it either,_ Kevin said, _I just..._

The next thought wasn't supposed to make it through, but Kevin was still so bad at hiding these things.

 _You can't disappear too._

Silence. Kevin pulled his blanket tighter underneath his chin and looked out the window. He closed his eyes, trying to establish a perimeter around his inner thoughts and what he wanted to say. It was difficult, a strange balancing act.

Only a week ago he'd found out how much he wished Charles had been his father, not the man who'd tried to kill his mother and broken his ribs. He'd thought that, maybe, if things kept going the way they were, he might be.

He switched to his other side. A sliver of moonlight fell on the floor from between the curtains. The bed where his mother used to sleep was empty, each blanket and sheet perfectly creased and unaired.

His throat began to tighten.

 _Kevin, we will find her. Never doubt that._

 _Okay,_ Kevin whispered.

Another moment of silence.

 _She wouldn't want anything to happen to you either you know._

 _I know,_ said Kevin.

 _You should get some sleep,_ Charles said.

 _I don't think I can._

 _I can help you if you just relax_ , said Charles, J _ust close your eyes and I can get you to sleep. It will-_

 _Be better in the morning?_ Kevin said bitterly.

Silence, a sigh from somewhere.

 _No. I can't tell you that._

Kevin felt guilty for his words and rolled onto his back. The ceiling stared back at him, a few shadows moving in sync.

 _I can only tell you that you can face the day with a little bit of rest, a little bit of extra strength this way.  
_

Tears pricked Kevin's eyes, and he sighed.

 _Thank you,_ he said.

He closed his eyes, and a soft blackness stole into his mind and eyes. Before he had time to sigh again, he was asleep.

* * *

"Charles?"

Charles looked up, offering a wan smile. His sister was standing in front of a projection of a map, looking concerned. The rest of the X-men were there, all in their pajamas, nursing cups of coffee or soda.

Peter's eyes kept darting around, five empty soda bottles and two cups of coffee next to him. Hank had his arms crossed thoughtfully but, like Raven, was giving him a concerned look.

"Sorry," he said, "Something had to be taken care of. Where is the embarkation point?"

Raven gave a short nod, tapping the border of Latveria, one of the Soviet Union's protectorates.

"We think they're starting out here," she said, "They pick up more mutants at stops in Poland, East Germany, and then Belgium. All in all, a three-week trip that culminates in the United States."

His sister pulled out a marker and drew the route. Charles knew how hard she'd worked to get this information, struggling with old sources. She, like him, like Hank, like all of them, had thrown themselves into finding Moira.

Their reasons varied. Charles still had a nasty feeling Peter blamed himself for what happened, him and Kurt. Neither were to blame, of course, but Peter thought he could've been faster. Kurt felt she wouldn't have been taken if she hadn't mistaken this other teleporter for him.

Raven had kept silent on her reasons. Though she had never liked Moira, her search had been methodical and determined. Her underground contacts filtered news to him, acting as a small, threadlike trail to follow.

It was invaluable, especially because Levine had failed to yield anything at the CIA. Moira's boss was furious and, by all accounts, concerned, but there had been no evidence linking it to anyone. The bodies at Moira's house had been cleaned up, and Stryker had, according to Levine, showed surprise and suspicion when he heard Moira wouldn't be in that day.

Cerebro was also yielding no results, either on Moira or those who had taken her. Charles had used it to follow Stryker, to tap into his mind, but he found nothing. All he could find was an annoyance at Moira, a deep anger. Charles had to struggle not to leave him with a migraine when he left.

Levine was still suspicious of Stryker, but he was exploring other avenues, just as Charles was in Cerebro. Other than that, all Charles could do was be grateful that his sister was helping him find the woman he loved.

"I get the Poland and East Germany stops," said Scott, "But I don't get Belgium. That's not behind the iron curtain. They could use legal channels to immigrate to the U.S."

"Do you even know what that process involves?" Raven asked, "It's not easy. Some people, especially mutants, might find it easier to just get on a ship that's only supposed to be shipping cargo."

"It doesn't sound safe," said Jean.

"From what I hear, it's not," said Raven, "It's poor conditions, since they're not built for passengers. There's usually only pallets for beds, and they're not allowed above deck too much, since this is all illegal. I remember one of my sources saying it was like transporting cattle."

She made a terrible face, but turned back to the board.

"Mutants who take this route are desperate," she said, "They have next to nothing, and what they did have was probably spent on the passage. They're runaways, poor, and no one will miss them."

Raven tapped the board.

"That's why I think, again from what I heard, that most ships make an undocumented stop in Scotland," she said, "Reports are trickling in that some of the mutant passengers disappear there. And I've heard that, when they stop, they've spotted someone who sounds remarkably like our teleporter."

"Are you sure?" asked Hank.

She shrugged.

"While I'm sure there's more than one," she said, "I still doubt that there's that many African American male teleporters who have a preference for cowboy hats and hang out with someone with remarkably good aim."

"Point taken," said Hank.

"Moira also mentioned to me that she was investigating a militant group there," Charles said, "It's worth a look."

Raven nodded and took down the map.

"However, it's not just something we can simply appear at," she said, "We need to be very careful about this. If they think something's wrong with the ship, or if it's compromised, I don't think our teleporter friend is going to show."

Charles folded his hands thoughtfully.

"You're suggesting an undercover mission, aren't you?" he asked.

"Yes," Raven said, "I have experience in this sort of operation. I can embark at one of the different ports, posing as a mutant fleeing the country. It would be more beneficial to have someone there long term, especially if there's any long-term information available, like maybe shutting these human smuggling rings down."

"It's...not a bad idea," Charles said cautiously, "But it would take more time than I think we have."

"There's a ship that's going to pull into Latveria soon," said Raven, "Two nights from now."

He thought of Moira, of what they might be doing to her in those two days, in the following days it would take to get to Scotland. He began to shake his head.

"We don't have a lot of options," said Raven, "This is, quite literally, our only lead right now."

"It's risky and time-consuming," Charles said, "You would need to have an escape route, and that's not easy to come by at sea."

"Oooh," Peter said, "Pick me. I can do it. I can. Pick me."

"Do not be ridiculous," said Kurt, "You do not know ze language. Me, on ze ozzer hand-"

"You're German!"

"Ja, a German who vas taught how to speak Latverian for show purposes!" Kurt said, "It is actually a lot like German."

Raven's eyes went wide. She looked over at Charles, who gave her an even look.

 _He's right you know,_ he said, _Still think it's a good idea?_

 _It's the best plan,_ she said, _But he can't come. He's too young, too inexperienced._

 _And would Hank or I fare better in this particular exercise?_ asked Charles, _I have the feeling my wheelchair would attract too much attention and, for all his gifts, Hank is very clearly an American. You and Kurt are the only ones with any chance of blending in._

Raven hesitated while Kurt and Peter continued arguing. She looked back at Charles, who set his face.

 _I don't like this plan Raven,_ he said, _We need to find her now._

 _And I understand that,_ Raven said, _Trust me, I do. I really, really do. But right now we don't have a lot of choices. I think she's still alive, and likely to remain that way for a while. If they'd wanted to kill her, they would've just shot her in the woods. Charles, this is our best bet._

His eyes flicked over to Kurt.

 _But you'd have to bring him with you,_ said Charles, _I'm not being cruel, just realistic. If something happens to you on that ship, or you seen an opportunity, you'll be going against a teleporter who can easily leave the picture. If you lose him, then this is all for nothing. Kurt can stop that from happening or get you out if something's wrong.  
_

A bitter fight raged in her eyes as she looked over the boy who, despite an argument and a shocking similarity in looks, she refused to claim as her son. Charles sighed, rubbing his temples as Peter threw an empty soda can at Kurt, who dodged it deftly.

 _I understand your concern Raven_ , he said, _If I were in your shoes, I wouldn't want to bring Kevin-_

 _It's not the same thing!_ Raven snapped, _Wanting him to be your son doesn't make him yours!_

He recoiled, hurt, and he saw a momentary flicker in her eyes. Then she turned away and clapped her hand on Kurt's shoulder.

"Alright, fine," she said, "For lack of anyone who really knows what they're doing, just how much Latverian do you know?"

* * *

 _ **A/N:** Hi everyone! It's nice to be back, and I've had time to consider what I want to do with this story. Also, as the first chapter suggests, we're going to have some time with Mystique and Kurt, as well as their issues._


	2. Chapter 2

It felt like a punishment.

While she was sure Charles's motives were as simple as he'd said, and they did make an alarming amount of sense, it did feel like a punishment. The woman I love's in peril? Well, it's time to put your family in peril too.

As if she hadn't done that enough already.

"Ve are being vatched," muttered Kurt.

"Keep it in Latverian," she murmured back, "And I know that. We're all being watched."

It had been one of the first things she'd noticed. Crew members, some armed, some unarmed, were looking over them disdainfully. God, she hated them so much. With any luck she'd be able to punch a few of them on her way out.

"Now keep your wits about you and let me do the talking," she warned.

Kurt ducked his head, and she swore in her head as they moved forward in line. He was so sensitive, but it seemed like every time he bounced back, happier than ever, in only a few minutes. In that way he reminded her of Peter.

What had she and Erik done to deserve children like them? Granted, she'd never seen his daughter, her or her mother, the women Erik had nearly torn apart the world for. But, in her mind's eye, the little girl was just as eager to meet and make friends as her older brother.

It killed her that Kurt was like that too, but she wasn't going to fool herself. She knew she was setting herself up for disappointment if she pretended forgiveness was a possibility. But, at times, he reminded her of his father, although Azazel had been much more guarded. Only his friends and those close to him had ever really seen the side of him that had manifested so grandly in Kurt. He'd had such a mischievous side to him too.

She remembered one night, in an abandoned ski lodge where they were wintering, he had stolen all the marshmallows out of her hot chocolate. He'd put them all in his cup until it looked like his hot chocolate was one solid mass.

Tears pricked her eyes, and she remembered why she didn't look back. There was too much pain, and so much of that had surrounded Kurt, the child born of a love that, even at the time, she'd known would end badly. But she'd allowed herself to dream, and Kurt had been born.

How stupid had she been?

"Passage fee."

She looked up at the crew member in front of her, swallowing slightly. It wasn't nerves, but she'd learned how to play the mouse over the years. The crew members were used to seeing people on the end of their tether. Anyone with too much spirit would likely attract attention.

So she ducked her head and passed him a ludicrous amount of money. It was chump change to Charles. Sometimes she forgot just how damn rich he really was. How many times had she taken things for granted growing up, things he must have known normal people didn't have, couldn't have?

The crew member snorted and waved them on. Mystique ducked her head and moved close to Kurt as they headed up the ramp.

"Stay close to me," Mystique muttered.

Kurt nodded as they embarked, keeping his head down. She allowed herself to grip his arm. To him, it would look like she was trying to make sure he kept his word. To the other passengers, it would look like two more passengers trying to stay together.

To her, it was a brief indulgence in sentimentality. For the moment at least, she could keep him safe. It was just like when she'd held him in her arms as a baby, and given him to the people who would raise him far away from the bullets and the pain.

At least, until they had given him over to the gladitorial fights. But even then, she'd found him. She'd kept him safe. Mystique liked to think that, if she failed at every other aspect of being a mother, at least she'd got that right.

* * *

Kurt found himself chewing on his tongue. He couldn't help but be nervous. While he'd been in combat since fighting Nur, this was his first time trying to go undercover, to blend in and work alongside Mystique.

He couldn't help but want to impress her. Kurt knew she hated to be looked up to like he'd looked up to her when they first met, but he couldn't help that little bit of awe. Her actions against Nur to rescue her brother and save the world had only served to underline this.

In the past few weeks, she'd been very difficult to deal with. He admitted this freely because, while he liked to think of himself as an optimist, he wasn't an idiot either. And it had made him nervous accordingly.

He could see the resentment building up in Scott, the humiliation in his friend's face after she called him out in moving to protect Jean. He was occasionally on the bad end of her temper too, most recently in her reluctance to take him on this mission. He'd hoped it would pass or he'd earn her approbation, earn the right to have her say good job.

In that respect, the mission might be good. Did she think he wouldn't be good at this though? He'd spent most of his life keeping his head down, listening as much as he could to what was going on around him. He was observant, and a born performer, an actor when the occasion called for it. Everyone said so.

He admitted he'd seen more good things than bad in his life. The circus had taken him in at a young age and, for most of his life, protected him. They'd gotten a new owner recently though, and Kurt had felt the tone change at The Munich Circus.

He'd heard whispers of a freak show, and he'd been very quietly packing his things when he was drugged over dinner. He'd gone to sleep in his own trailer, and woken up locked in a trunk. The next thing he'd heard was the roar of the crowds, and the next thing he'd seen was the blinding lights in the cage.

But she'd saved him, and he didn't believe it was just a coincidence she'd been there. Whether she believed it or not, he was sure God had sent her that night, an agent to save mutants no matter her own personal desire to shrink from the limelight. And now, reluctant or not, she was still helping them.

His personal respect for her growing up was great for him to give up hope just because she was uncertain. He could even sympathize with that. Hadn't he been uncertain of his own purpose all his life? It was only when he'd met the X-men that he'd realized this was his calling, saving and helping others, not performing for them.

And now, his first true mission as an X-man came in the form of rescuing Kevin's mother. Moira had seemed to be a kind woman, one who was trying to help others however she could. While they'd only had suspicions of whether or not she was with the Professor at the time she'd been taken, it had been confirmed in his desperate search for her. It was love that echoed in his eyes, that caused him such pain.

Then there was Kevin. His father was not, as far as Kurt knew, in the picture. Dead or gone, Kurt did not know. Perhaps it was not important. It did mean that he would grow up without his parents if Moira were lost though.

Having grown up with no parents, Kurt knew just how much that hurt. He knew that aching, cloying feeling deep within him. Had they given him up because of his looks? Had they been in danger themselves?

He'd never known, and had constructed his own hopeful fantasies accordingly. While he was too old to believe most of them, some did still have a resonance deep inside him, one in particular. However, he still knew it was foolish thinking.

It didn't mean he would stop trying to do his job right. He'd listened as carefully as possible to everything Mystique had told him before getting ready to go. He'd absorbed the Professor's instructions too, even a few tips from Peter about how to distract people. As Mystique's accomplice on this mission, he got the feeling he'd be doing a lot of distracting in the next few days.

They entered the ship and Kurt wrinkled his nose. While not unpleasant, the ship did smell somewhat unwashed. There were already many people in the cargo hold, and a few had hung blankets from curtain rods for some privacy.

Mystique pressed close to him, her hand moving from his arm to his shoulder. He moved a little closer to her as well. Their cover was that she was his aunt, and her eyes were a kind of red, although she looked like she had when she had first rescued him otherwise. Just an aunt who saved up enough money to take herself and her mutant nephew to somewhere that was supposed to be kinder to mutants.

It was why she would be protective of him, why he would stick close to her. It wasn't difficult to keep this particular charade up though. There were so many people, and Kurt had to keep himself from getting too nervous. So many people, so many children, all cashing in hard-earned savings in exchange for a hellish journey and, hopefully, a better life.

Mystique looked down at a number they'd been given by one of the crew. She glanced over at a small space with two thin pallets and two blankets. Kurt saw her jaw tighten, and he could understand why: it was a poor excuse for sleeping accommodations. While they were there undercover, everyone else was there for other reasons. Their money had meant nothing, but it had certainly meant something to the others.

Kurt sat down on one of them and Mystique sat down next to him. She adjusted her hood, shading her eyes and her face. Kurt drew a little closer, his eyes flickering around. So far, no one seemed to be too close to hear.

"Any zoughts?" he asked.

"Several," she whispered, "But only a couple relevant ones. I need to see if I can get the radio frequency from one of the ship members, see how they talk to each other."

"I can get zat," murmured Kurt, "Hank vas showing us how to program ze radios. I can go up very quietly und-"

"No," Mystique said sharply, "Stay here. I'll be back in a few minutes, and don't get into any trouble while I'm gone. And stick to Latverian."

Before Kurt could protest she got up and started to walk away, slouching in on herself, like someone trying to stay out of everyone's way. Kurt sighed and looked down at the pallet beneath his feet. He gave a small shiver from the chilly air.

It had probably been wishful thinking, but he'd hoped she would've let him handle the radio. It was a simple enough task, one she must know he would be able to handle. She'd been there when Hank had showed him.

A flicker of disappointment welled up inside him, but he tried to dampen it. Perhaps it had nothing to do with how she saw his abilities. Perhaps she just wanted to get a better look at the ship's layout?

He sighed. Yes. And perhaps she was going to give him a hug and tell him he was coming along wonderfully when she came back.


	3. Chapter 3

Moira woke up, and everything hurt. It was a familiar sensation, but, this time, there was something soft beneath her. Her wrist was bandaged, and she could feel blankets tucked up around her. She groaned and, immediately, felt a hand on hers.

"Moira? Love?"

She turned her head and saw Charles seated next to her, his earnest eyes capturing hers. She swallowed hard, feeling herself tear up. There was no pain in her throat, no itching, no swelling. Finally, something had quenched her thirst.

Charles reached out, cupping her cheek, wiping away the tears that had already started to spill down her cheeks. It had been so long since she'd had enough water within her to cry, but the feeling of his cool hands on her hot cheeks felt glorious.

"Shhh, shhhh," he murmured, "You're safe love. You're safe. It's going to be alright."

She swallowed and grasped his hand. As she did, she became aware of the IV stuck into it. His hand kept stroking her cheek, and with each progressive breath, she felt herself become a little more real.

Moira let out a soft sigh, only wanting to hold onto him and never let go.

"How...?" she murmured.

"Not without some difficulty I'm afraid," he said, "I had to...we had to call in so many favors but...well, you're here now. that's all that matters."

Charles managed a small smile.

"I must say, you gave us all quite the fright when we first found you," he said, "For a moment I thought...I thought I was going to lose you."

"You won't," Moira said.

He squeezed the side of her cheek and she closed her eyes. She was tired, so very tired.

"Where's Kevin?" she asked.

"Resting," Charles replied, "It's very late. And...when you came in...we knew you were going to be fine, but I thought it was best Kevin didn't see you looking like that. I hope I didn't...overstep myself."

"No, you were right," said Moira, "Thank you for thinking of him. He's so young and...there are things I'd rather he not know I...never mind."

She tried to push herself up, but Charles put out a restraining hand.

"Don't push yourself," he said, "Moira, they weren't...they weren't taking care of you."

His voice darkened as he spoke, and she reached out to give his hand another reassuring squeeze. She closed her eyes again, settling further into the pillow. God, it was so soft.

"Moira, I'm so sorry to ask you this," whispered Charles, "But...Raven and I were talking...Moira...what happened to you? What did they want?"

She opened her eyes and turned her head slightly. Charles was looking at her so sadly, so earnestly, and she let out another deep breath.

"My research," she said, "I just...they wanted times, dates, even sources. They were looking for specific files, things you could only get from a government agency."

"Specific files?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, "The unique ones. Some papers, Nazi experiments..."

She trailed off, trying to remember if there'd been anything else.

"You came across Nazi files?" asked Charles.

Moira stiffened and jerked her hand out of Charles's grip. He looked alarmed, but Moira sneered. The expression hurt, yet her anger was reaching a place where it was difficult to calm down from.

"Goddamn you," she said, trying to push away further from him.

"Moira?" asked Charles, "What's wrong?"

"You know what's wrong," Moira snapped, "Get the hell out of my head!"

"Moira, I don't-"

"Get the hell out of my head you stupid bitch!"

The room melted away. The scratchiness returned to her throat. The pain in her wrists returned full blast, rubbed raw from the cuffs. Hunger pains again reasserted themself in her stomach, and her unwashed hair stuck to the skin of her forehead.

Something dripped from the ceiling next to her. Moira swallowed, her tongue fuzzy and her throat on fire. Even her teeth felt strange. Her mind felt like pudding, but the anger was helping her focus it.

"That was really rude."

She forced herself to look up, leaning against the metal chair she was handcuffed to. Martinique leaned against the door, far away from where she could even attempt to throttle her. She was smoking a cigarette and looking angry.

Moira allowed herself a thin smile. So she was angry. Good. A sharp pain resonated in her head. God, her headaches were back.

"Stay out of my head," Moira hissed.

"Oh darlin, your head's already been screwed around with enough," Martinique said, getting up, "Seriously, does your boyfriend just scramble your brain recreationally? Is that a turn on for you? I'm really quite curious at this point."

Moira wished she could save up enough saliva to spit. She forced herself to stay calm though. They weren't giving her much water, and she knew the only benefit she'd get from spitting would be a bolster to her pride. While it was certainly a coveted attribute, it wasn't something she could afford.

Martinique flicked the cigarette on the ground, smashing it with the tip of her shoe as she approached. Keeping her distance, she lit another one and took a long drag, giving Moira a critical look.

"You know," she said, "You could just let me see your files. In you head I mean. It would certainly make things a lot easier."

"Easier on you, yeah," Moira said, "No thanks."

Martinique snorted and took another drag. She got a little closer. Moira would kick her if her legs weren't securely fastened to the chair.

"So, what gave me away this time?" asked Martinique.

Moira didn't say anything. Her mind went back to the mention of the Nazi documents, the ones Charles already knew she had. She whisked away the thought. While she didn't think Martinique could read her mind, all of this would've been much faster if she could, she didn't want to take any chances.

"Whatever," said Martinique, "I really think you should reconsider. To start with, we could increase your water rations."

Rolling her eyes and ignoring her swollen tongue, she shook her head. Martinique took her cigarette out and looked at it, blowing the smoke out slowly from her lips. Moira watched her movements, already tensing up.

"Why do people like you have to be so difficult?" she asked.

Moira didn't answer. Martinique turned the cigarette once more in her hand, and then lashed out, putting it out on the back of Moira's hand. A scream burst from her lips, paining her throat, and the smell of burnt flesh filled her nostrils.

Martinique tossed the cigarette over her shoulder a second or two later, watching Moira with interest. A faint sweat broke out on Moira's brow as she gasped her pain, trying to get it under control.

"Next time, I can always put it out on your wrist," Martinique said, "Soft skin there. Tender. So many nerves."

Moira glared at her and Martinique snorted.

"Right," she said, "Well, it's almost lunch time. See you in a little bit."

She gave a small wave as she moved out, pausing only to crush the cigarette she'd thrown over her shoulder beneath her heel.

* * *

The door slammed shut behind Martinique, and she swore. With fingers trembling from rage, she lit up another one. She'd been close that time, so sure that, this time, her illusion would work.

It had been much more difficult than she'd expected to crack into Moira's mind. Granted, not everyone fell for her illusions, but after a few days, they did succumb. It wasn't telepathy, but it was easy enough to trick people into telling her something, doing something for her.

Even the strongest, most stubborn minds had succumbed to her. She'd thought that, even with Moira's reputation for being hard-headed, she would be able to break in after a day or two, no problem. Three, tops.

What she hadn't expected was the amount of mental scar tissue she'd encountered. Martinique had run into it a few times, people whose minds had been messed with by telepaths. It made it more difficult to get in there, to get the surface thoughts and relationships she'd need to get the information to make her illusions as strong as possible.

But when she'd entered Moira's mind she'd hit a brick wall. Oh yes, she'd been able to wean out details, such as what her son was, who her lover was. She'd caught glimpses of other things, of a room where bloody hands reached for a phone. That had seemed important, but she hadn't been able to tap into it.

The sheer amount of mental scar tissue puzzled her. The cause of some of it was easy enough to identify: the sharing of conversations with a particular telepath, the tenor of the man's mind so known to her own that it was likely to fight any other mind.

However, what was really causing problems was something else. It was like a knot in the middle of her mind, made of hundreds of broken shards. It had given Martinique a headache just looking at it.

Where had it even come from? It was the equivalent of someone lopping off a leg and then stitching it back in. It didn't feel infected, so it had been done by someone who knew what they were doing, but it was still terrible.

Martinique took a long drag and leaned against the wall. Essex would be coming soon. If he hadn't already be delayed, he'd already be there, with her sister. Her baby sister, who would just love to see her fail. Regan would be sure to say she could do it better and, even if she couldn't, Martinique could see her own stock rapidly falling.

She flicked the cigarette onto the ground. She was running out of options but, more importantly, she was running out of time. She wasn't a telepath, no matter what Regan and Essex liked to pretend or tell enemies. She'd spent days using her illusions on Moira, and she knew she was running the risk of irrevocably destroying her mind.

It wasn't a chance she could take. Essex only wanted Moira for her mind, for what she knew. He didn't care about her powers, not that Moira had any, and his fury would be uncontainable if he found out Martinique had shattered her mind.

Martinique ran a hand through her hair furiously. In a week or two, Essex would be back to inspect the mutants she culled from the latest ship too. So she had another opportunity to disappoint him, although a substandard crop was more excusable than not having what he needed from Moira.

A scream echoed from down the hall, and Martinique's ears perked up. Oh yes, she'd forgotten about their other guest. While she hadn't bothered to look too closely at their facility's other inhabitant, the only permanent one she'd been able to tell, she knew a little bit. The facility had another resident, but Martinique had the feeling she wouldn't be there for too long, especially with Essex on his way.

Slowly, Martinique lit another cigarette as an idea formed. It was risky, but it was certainly worth a try. After all, Moira was a CIA agent, trained in what to do under interrogation. The child was nearer to her breaking point, easier to manipulate.

Smashing her old cigarette, Martinique walked down the hall. It seemed like risks confronted her no matter where she looked. She hadn't been in this particular situation for such a long time, hadn't had her back up against a wall like this.

Then again, an uncertain future was still better than one with a certain, unpleasant outcome.


	4. Chapter 4

"So, do you think you can move it?"

Kevin looked blankly at the book in front of him. Jean bit her lip, wishing for the millionth time that Charles would come down and help her. However, he was making a phone call. She could only guess what it was about.

Like everyone else in their small group, she was worried about Kevin. He wasn't sleeping properly, not so that he was fully rested. Every now and then she'd see the pictures on the wall rattle when he went past. She doubted that he knew what he was doing. She hadn't.

It was at times like this when she began to see just how badly his mother's absence was affecting him. Jean was sure Charles was concerned too, and she had no doubt Kevin spoke to him much more than he spoke to her.

"It's easy Kevin," she urged him, "You just need to concentrate."

He blinked slowly at the book, and it wiggled vaguely.

"I know you can do better Kevin," she said.

"Where's Kurt and Miss Raven?" he asked, "Does it have to do with my mother?"

Jean sighed.

"Kevin, you know they went to an academic conference," she said.

"Where are they really?"

She sighed again, once again wishing for the Professor. Kevin simply slouched more.

"Okay. Don't tell me. Okay," he said, "Can I go do my homework now?"

She sighed, sitting down next to him. Jean wished she was better at this, that she had the ability to talk easily to others. She wanted to be a teacher after all, and teachers should be good at talking to children.

"Kevin, please try," she murmured, "I know it's difficult, but you need to learn how to control your gift, to use it consistently. This is important."

"Is it?" he said.

"It's why you were brought here," said Jean, "It's why we were all brought here."

He gave her a side look.

"Who brought you here?" he asked.

Jean hesitated and looked down.

"My father," she said.

Kevin frowned at her, and she knew her voice had shaken. Then again, as she'd learned, it was difficult to hide anything from a telepath.

"He...thought it might help," she said carefully.

"Was he scared of you?" asked Kevin.

There was no point in lying.

"He still is," Jean said, "I thought, if I could get better, I could go home."

Kevin laid his head down on his knees, his hands resting on his ankles. It looked like he was about to go to sleep. She sighed and, gently, put a hand on his shoulder. He just turned his eyes to her hand, blinking slightly.

"This is home for me now, I think," he said, "Close to it anyway."

"Me too," Jean said, "It's why you have to try."

He looked at the book, and he narrowed his eyes. It flew from the table back into the shelf, just missing its place. It slammed into the bookcase and Jean winced as she saw the spine break.

Kevin closed his eyes.

"I didn't sleep well last night," he said.

It sounded somewhat apologetic. She leaned over and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Did you call the Professor?" she asked.

"I...I..." Kevin mumbled.

Jean sighed and put an arm around his shoulder.

"He wants to be there for you Kevin," she said, "Let him."

Kevin closed his eyes.

"I just...I don't want..."

"Hey, it's total downer in here. What's up?"

Jean glared at Peter as he zipped into the room, taking up a position on the table. Kevin looked up at him, and Peter was suddenly closer, his eyes level with Kevin, giving him a searching look.

"Yep," said Peter, "I can tell what's going on here."

Kevin furrowed his brow, and Peter put his hands on Kevin's shoulders.

"You need to be tossed," he said, "I'll set up a trampoline."

"Huh?" asked Kevin.

"Don't believe me?" asked Peter, "I've done it before. You weren't here for that, but, like, it was awesome! I had this curtain set up, and I tossed a bunch of people. So, not a trampoline exactly, but really close."

"Peter, I don't think-" Jean began.

"One, two, three!" sang Peter.

Suddenly, they were both gone, as were the curtains. The window was open and Jean stood up. She ran over and saw Kevin sliding down one of the curtains, which was attached to the tree, and Peter crouched by him. The boy looked shell-shocked.

Of all the idiotic things. She wanted to use her gifts to slam Peter into a tree, and she had to take a deep breath in order not to. She'd been taught better. Besides, it would set a bad example for Kevin.

Another breeze went by her, rattling the window and stirring her hair. Kevin was sliding down the curtain again. Jean wanted to shout out, to tell Peter to quit it, but she saw a whisper of a smile on Kevin's face.

A third breeze. This time, Kevin was laughing when he slid down, and she saw Peter grinning. But she could also feel the relief pouring off him. Jean leaned against the wall, smiling fondly. Perhaps Peter wasn't a complete idiot after all.

* * *

"How's it coming on your end?"

"It's a shit show," Levine said, "And, after all my years, I don't use that term lightly. Next time I see Stryker, I'm gonna slug him."

"I don't think he's behind this, as difficult as it is to believe," Charles said.

"Me neither," admitted Levine, "But I need to hit someone, and I hate his face. And we all know he was involved somehow. Maybe not directly, but somehow."

He heard Levine shift his phone from one side to the other. The two only contacted each other every three days, or if something came up. Levine was working with the CIA again, and whoever it was who'd taken Moira probably knew he'd been there that night.

There was a very real risk that he'd been bugged somehow, something Levine had informed Charles from a pay phone thirty miles away from his home. Levine didn't fully trust the CIA. Charles didn't either frankly. There was something distinctly strange about this. Moira made the decision to seal her work and then she was taken. There was a leak somewhere and, now that they'd ruled out Stryker as the only one involved, it meant there were other, unpleasant possibilities.

Talking using Charles's gift was problematic too, since Levine seemed to be constantly bouncing around locations. Levine said he wasn't going to waste Charles's time finding him on Cerebro, not when he could be following up other leads.

As such, he made his calls frequent, but not so frequent as to be noticed. Not that there ever seemed much to report, on either end.

"No leads though, none at all," Levine said, "People don't just vanish though, not even when mutants are involved. There's always something, always a paper trail."

"I know," said Charles, "It's little comfort when we can't find anything."

"Right there with you."

Charles pinched the bridge of his nose, and he imagined Levine was doing something similar, shared frustration brewing between them. While the two of them weren't friends, he knew Levine's thoughts on what Charles had done to Moira after Cuba, he found it easy to work with him. Levine was determined, a man who loved Moira too, although in a different way. She was his friend, partner, family.

And he wanted her to be safe and happy. He had the feeling Levine didn't really care how that happened.

"How are things on your end?" asked Levine.

Ah, yes. This. Charles looked over his papers. They'd logged every message Raven had sent them, but it was still precious little. They were only a few days into the voyage now and, so far, the information had been mostly focused around how many people were on the ship, how many weapons.

Those hadn't been comforting messages.

"We're following something up," said Charles, "Which brings me to something I need to discuss with you."

"I'm all ears."

Charles swallowed, holding the phone a little closer to his head.

"Where are you?"

Levine hesitated, and Charles hoped that the man understood what it was he was trying to do, why he was trying to do it. He needed to make sure they were very secure before he told him what he wanted.

"I'm in the middle of nowhere on a secure line."

"How secure?" asked Charles.

"Ironclad," Levine said, "And I haven't been followed. I may be a little rusty, but not that rusty."

"Good," said Charles, "Because we think there's a group in Scotland that's connected to Moira's disappearance."

"Really?"

"Yes," Charles said, "I have people following them, but they're going to need some more information. I believe Moira was investigating them. She mentioned them in passing."

There was a pause on the other end. Charles had no doubt Levine was chewing over his words thoughtfully.

"You need more intel," said Levine.

"Yes," Charles said, "Her intel."

On the other end, Levine sighed.

"You're asking me to break into the CIA to get this for you, aren't you?" he asked.

"I don't know if we need to go quite that far," said Charles.

"The files are sealed Xavier. Do you have nay idea what that means?" asked Levine, "It means no one gets into them. It means they're in a vault. Now, you're right in thinking I can get in. Again, retired, but I've been more or less drafted. I know my way around. But do you know what happens if I get caught?"

"Bad things," said Charles, "I know what I'm asking. I would have one of my people do it but-"

"With the current political climate, a mutant caught breaking into the CIA might cause World War III," sighed Levine, "Yeah, I get it. Better for me to be branded a traitor than a mutant."

His words made Charles wince. Another silence, and a sigh.

"In three days, I'll get a chance," Levine said, "I need you to be in my head around 3 p.m. that day."

"Why?" asked Charles.

"Because if I'm caught, I want you to see what I'm seeing, get the intel," said Levine, "If I get locked up for treason, I at least want to make sure it helps her."

Without another word, he hung up.

* * *

"Aunt Jenovefa?"

Mystique sighed. She hated the name she'd picked for her undercover identity, but it had matched, had made sense. It just had a strange ring to it, clanging against her ears in a way that made her shiver. Aunt.

"What?" she asked, giving him a side look.

Her son was laying on his back, his blanket drawn up to his chin, staring at the ceiling. She could just see his fingers peeping over the top of his blanket. He wasn't looking at her, his blood-red eyes fixed at another point.

It was night, and he should be sleeping. Everyone else was sleeping. She should be sleeping too.

"Why do places like this exist?"

She frowned.

"Sorry?" she asked.

He shrugged, looking somewhat sheepish.

"All of this...it shouldn't be this hard," he said, looking around him, "I just...I mean, I saw someone in the crew hit someone for no reason at all today."

"Which one?" asked Mystique.

"The fat one," he said dismissively.

"Stay away from him," she said, "He's bad news."

"That's not my point," Kurt said, "I just mean, even if there is illegal immigration, do all these people have to be so cruel? Do they have to care so little? And everyone here, they're so suspicious."

"They're terrible people," said Mystique, "And everyone else is scared. That's an end to it."

"No one is just a terrible person," Kurt said, "People can be good. Sometimes they just need to be reminded of who they truly are."

There was so much Charles in his voice that, perhaps, her next words were inevitable.

"Did you learn that at the circus? Where they sold you and made you fight like an animal?" hissed Mystique.

He flinched, still looking at the ceiling.

"God taught me that," he said.

"Again, the people who sold you teach you that?" she said.

Her son closed his eyes.

"I think I found Him myself."

Mystique sighed and rolled over, her back to him. She wondered if she'd ever been as innocent, as trusting as Kurt. Maybe once, when she'd been six years old, and Charles had offered her a home.

A home she'd walked away from.

"Go to sleep," she said, "Leave philosophy for another day."


	5. Chapter 5

The chilly air stung Mystique's cheeks as she fiddled the radio, not in any real hope of getting anything. Next to her, she heard a retching sound, but didn't look. Many people were getting seasick, and most of them didn't make it to the poor sanitation facilities in time. Mystique was beginning to hate the men and women who worked on the ship more and more. They were profiting off the misery of those beneath them, not caring what happened to them.

Her eyes were still on the end game though. She was making sure to regularly check in with Charles and Hank, as well as searching out information. Passengers often wandered below deck, although if they got too close to the crew's quarters they would be harshly turned away.

It wasn't difficult to overhear their conversations, to pick up valuable scraps. Every time she got a minute or two to herself, she would listen to them on their frequencies, hear when the next few stops would be.

Everything was going according to plan. Everything except Kurt. Yes, he would teleport her when she needed him to make her clandestine trips around the ship at night. A few times he'd even been able to distract the guards while she slipped behind a door or readjusted the radio's frequency.

But, every time the lights were out and they didn't have to search, he'd try to talk to her. Not about anything personal, not after that night when he'd asked her about why the ship existed at all. It was just light, inane conversation. Nothing she could shush him for, chasten him about. Nothing to keep her from wanting to smile at his jokes. She'd had to make up an excuse just to get away.

She switched off her radio, trying to think of a good time to give Kurt a stern talking-to. Technically, he wasn't doing anything wrong, but she might be able to invent something. She'd spent years where he didn't cross her mind because the blow was too great. She'd tried to point-blank ignore him at Westchester.

There was no escape on the ship. He was interested in talking to her, not just because she was some sort of hero in his eyes, although she suspected that had something to do with it. At the end of the day, he wanted to talk to her because he was a kind, open individual.

In some ways, Mystique was proud of him. Kurt was the kind of child everyone would want. He was, after his initial timidity was overcome, a young man who knew how to be personable and open. He wanted to make friends, to please, and so many people reacted positively to that.

She wished she could afford to be one of those people. But she understood too well what would happen if she broke. She tucked the radio into her coat and closed her eyes. She bowed her head, trying to keep it all in.

Every day that went by in Kurt's company she wanted to spend as his mother, not his fake aunt. She wanted to be able to take him in her arms when he seemed worried, though she knew he was too old for it. God, he was almost seventeen. How had all of that time gone by? How had she spent so many years away from him, pretending she had no regrets?

For the first time, she didn't think she'd be able to do it anymore. Yes, she could outlast this trip. Mystique could pretend that Kurt's jokes weren't funny, that his attempts to make conversation were sad and unprofessional.

She could even outlast finding Moira, she was sure of that. Having a breakdown before they'd found her brother's lover would be something she wouldn't be able to forgive herself for. Not after the last time.

But after that, she would have to go. Mystique had no idea where, but that hadn't stopped her for more than a decade. Coming back to Westchester hadn't been a mistake, not really, but coming back there when Kurt lived there was.

She'd thought she could stay, but being around her son wasn't good for either of them, for anyone really. Charles was trying to start a new life with the woman he loved and a son he hoped could be his. She was in the way, sniping at him, although she had no idea where he got off telling her how he would feel if some boy he'd met less than a month ago was in danger.

The children were alright fighters, and would become better under Hank and Moira's tutelage. They would do fine for what they wanted to do. They had done fine fighting Nur after all. All they needed was a strong leader to focus them, and Charles could be that leader now.

And Kurt? He'd find a way to move on. He'd probably just be disappointed that she didn't stay. He would mourn anyone who left she thought, anyone who walked out of his life, with or without a goodbye.

She pitied him for that. It was the one lesson no one could really teach. She supposed being cold was just a part of who she was.

* * *

Kurt stared at the ceiling, feeling his heart thrum in his ears. He'd barely said two words to Mystique before she'd walked out of the hold, rolling her eyes. What was it about him that irritated her so quickly?

It had been a long time since he'd felt rejection this poignantly. Yes, he got disgusted stares in the circus. He was snickered at but, after a while, he had simply shrugged it off. They didn't understand. They were to be pitied for not having the ability to see beyond their own back yards, beyond a circus he realized now was tawdry.

But to have someone be unable to be with him for more than a few minutes? That hurt.

"I'm cold."

The words, whispered in English next to him, made his eyes slide over. A small girl, about eight, maybe younger, was seated on the pallets next to them. She was pale and drawn up, but Kurt could just make out her pointed ears and curls of pink hair underneath her hat. The rest of her was swallowed in a big coat and the blanket.

Had she always been on the pallets next to him? He wasn't sure. And was it really that cold? He breathed out and realized, for the first time, that his breath frosted over. He'd been so caught up in his thoughts that he hadn't been thinking about the cold so much, but the child was certainly feeling its bite. From the way her head was all but buried, she was feeling it very keenly indeed.

A woman sitting next to her drew her close, wrapping her arms around her. Golden hair tumbled over her shoulders, covering her face and most of her back. It glittered when she took off her coat and wrapped it around the girl, who sneezed.

"I've got you," the woman murmured, "I've got you. Don't worry. You'll warm up soon."

Her voice was tender and kind. Was she the girl's mother? He felt a stab of nostalgia for something he'd never known. Even when he was younger, if he was cold or needed something, he could fetch it himself. Sometimes someone else would hand it to him. They weren't cruel, there just wasn't a lot of time for coddling others.

"But-"

"No buts," the woman said.

He watched her for a moment more, saw how she shivered. She was just as cold as the child, but she had fisted her hands, her whole body rigid. He supposed that she, like everyone on the boat, knew better than to ask for more supplies. A few had asked the first night. It hadn't ended well.

Kurt looked at his own blanket, and bit his lip in worry. The woman shivered one more time, and he saw her hold the little girl closer, probably for her own warmth as much as the child's.

Barely thinking, Kurt pulled his blanket up and quickly put it around her shoulders. The woman turned quickly, and Kurt realized just how young she was, perhaps his own age. There was no way that she could be the child's mother. Her sister perhaps? Yes, that must be it.

He also realized just how beautiful she was. Her hair, which he'd noted for its brilliant color, set off her brilliantly blue eyes. They were wells of sapphire surrounded by soft features, wide and startled. Take away the threadbare sweater, hat, the gloves where the finger tips had been worked away, and Michelangelo could have painted her as an angel in one of the great churches in Rome.

But that look of surprise didn't last long. Her eyes narrowed and he quickly looked away, curling into himself slightly. The woman took off the blanket and handed it back to him. He couldn't see her face, but he didn't think she was happy. Not from the way that her eyes had narrowed.

Still, he didn't take the blanket back.

"Thank you," she said, her words sharp, "But I'm fine."

"I don't need it," Kurt murmured.

"We're all going to need it."

"I handle ze cold vell," he said.

"And what do you want for it exactly?"

He ventured to look at her face, saw her harsh inquisitiveness. He bit his lip.

"Nozing," he managed, "I just...nozing. It's okay. You can...I don't vant anything."

She looked at him for a moment more, and he saw softness return to her features. The child in her arms tugged at her sleeve, looking worried.

"I think he's nice," she said.

The woman looked down at the girl and sighed. When she looked up at Kurt, he could see a small shimmer of shame and guilt on her face.

"I'm sorry," the woman said, "I didn't mean to...alright, I did, but I didn't want to be cruel. It's just..."

She shrugged slightly, pulling the blanket back over her shoulders.

"People haven't offered something for nothing in a long time," she said.

"I understand," said Kurt, "I just, well, you needed something."

The woman chuckled, and he could hear some warmth in that chuckle.

"Perhaps things really are looking up," she said, "I think you need to stay a bit more on your feet though, stay sharp. I think you're honest, and that can be dangerous. I don't like to see bad things happen to good people."

"Neither do I," Kurt said, frowning.

She smiled, but it seemed a little sad. The child in her arms wriggled slightly, moving so she could look at Kurt. He could see her pale hazel eyes staring at him with curiosity. She looked just like a pixie from a child's book.

"I like your tattoos," she said shyly, "They are tattoos, right?"

Kurt grinned. Not many people said that, not even at the Institute.

"Yes," he said, "Yes they are."

"I wish I could get some, but I'm too young. Oh, manners! I'm-" the girl said.

She stopped and looked at the woman, who nodded.

"We're going to be roommates for a while, if you can call it that," the woman said, "You can tell him."

"Megan," the girl said promptly.

"Kodi," Kurt said.

The false name seemed strange on his tongue, but he felt that it came out naturally enough. The woman gave Megan a tender smile, a beautiful expression. Kurt felt himself suddenly wondering if his hair was sticking everywhere, if she cared that his eyes looked like blood.

Probably.

"I'm Amanda," the woman said.

"My, aren't we making friends?"

Kurt turned, and saw Mystique there, giving him a disapproving look. He gave a half-shoulder shrug but, despite the fact that he knew she was disappointed, he didn't feel as though he'd done anything wrong.

Then again, not much seemed like it made her happy.


	6. Chapter 6

Levine felt the sweat under his skin, ready to break forth and ruin his cover. He walked through the hall, his hands in his pockets, trying to look as tired as he felt. If, by chance, anyone saw him, they'd just assume he was another exhausted agent walking through the halls.

If anyone recognized him, he could use his tiredness as an excuse. Just an old-timer, getting lost in the halls he used to know like the back of his hand. Pity him, he's not what he used to be. It was a pretty good strategy, and one he had the feeling would work, even if his pride would take a blow.

At the same time, in his head, he kept asking himself what the hell he thought he was doing. When it came down to it, Charles Xavier was probably less trustworthy than the CIA. Sure, they'd done some iffy things over time, but they'd always taken care of him.

They'd humiliated Moira, but Charles had humiliated her first. It hadn't looked good and, while he was angry that all her dependability had been swept under the rug, he knew they'd been frightened. It was an uncertain world they were living in now, they were all living in.

He took casual strides down the hallway. He knew there wasn't any surveillance right now or, at least, none that could catch him. He'd cut his teeth in stealth remembering the way the cameras moved. They hadn't changed since then.

It had been a game once, trying to avoid them and test his skills. However, he knew what a mistake would mean. He could see the headlines right now, the shame his family and friends would feel if he was caught.

So, again, why was he doing this? He thought of his friend, thought of the trouble she was in. He bit his cheek, praying that he was doing the right thing. Yes, the CIA might be more trustworthy, but there was likely a leak. Other agencies were tussling in, and politics were being played out. At least Charles had no other interest in the matter other than finding and saving Moira.

Levine saw the doorway and, as quietly and smoothly as he could, slipped inside. There was a keypad, but he'd already swiped a young bookkeeper's ID card earlier. The boy was young enough that, if he got back fast enough, he could make him think he'd temporarily misplaced it.

He slid it and entered. The cabinet files were lined up against the walls, and he began skimming them quickly. He knew how they were organized. Levine was glad that no one ever seemed to update anything.

 _Find anything?_

 _You know I haven't_ , Levine thought irritably.

 _Yes, of course._

Levine rolled his eyes and found the files. He opened the drawer quickly and thumbed through it.

 _Do you know anything other than Scotland?_ he asked, _Might make this go a little faster._

 _No._

 _Of course. Sonuvabitch._

The last part had been a mistake, and he wasn't sure if it made it through. He was still pretty new to how all of this worked. Charles was silent though, so it seemed like it had worked out somehow. He sighed and continued searching.

It was a few minutes and one paper cut later that he found the list he was looking for. There were three pages, each filled with a mixture of type and Moira's neat, but cramped, handwriting, from top to bottom.

 _Can you see all of this?_ Levine thought.

 _Yes. Run your eyes over it once more. I can tap into it again later in your mind and read it over then._

Levine did so with each page, barely looking at the words. He didn't know how much time he had.

 _Good. Yes. Now get out._

 _You don't have to tell me twice,_ Levine thought.

He put the file back, sloppily jostling the folders. As he did, something caught his eye on an adjoining file. It had handwriting on it, but it wasn't Moira's. At the same time, it was familiar.

 _Levine?_

 _One second,_ thought Levine.

He pulled the file out. It took him a moment but, after a quick flip, he found the part where the agent had signed off for a requisition of parts. Levine felt himself slump slightly when he saw it. Agent Platt.

It had been a long time since he'd thought about the man who'd brought him and Moira to his compound. He'd heard that a teleporting mutant had broken in, dropping most of the people in the compound to their deaths. That had included Platt, a man Levine had quite liked.

He flipped through the sheet again. It soon became clear this wasn't part of Moira's research. The parts weren't wholly unfamiliar, but it was fairly routine. Platt had been much higher than Levine at the time, in charge of a whole slew of agents.

Still though, the more Levine looked over the list, the more he frowned. What was Platt building? Some sort of giant computer? It had a lot of the parts, especially given the year he was trying to build it in, but it was also odd. Why did he need zoning permission for a whole new building?

He flipped another page, and saw that he was building it for one of his scientists.

 _Don't you know a Hank McCoy?_ asked Levine, _I mean, I know he was one of Platt's, one of your super teens, but I think Moira mentioned he teaches for you now or something._

 _He does. Levine, I think that's a requisition list for Cerebro._

He furrowed his brow, trying to remember what that was.

 _Is that that thing you used to find all those teens?_ he asked.

 _Yes. I have a newer model myself, more efficient, more practical,_ Charles thought, _That said, it's a little odd that this list was put near Moira's research._

 _It's the filing system_ , Levine thought, starting to put the folders away, _They're trying to keep all the information they have about mutants in the same place._

Charles's alarm came through so strongly that Levine sat bolt upright.

 _Jesus!_

 _Levine, you need to take that out of there,_ Charles thought, T _hey can't have that!_

 _Why?_

 _Because they know it's for mutants,_ thought Charles, _They know that it finds them. I'm not letting the CIA have a way to find mutants whenever they want. Get that out of there!_

Levine pinched the bridge of his nose.

 _Okay, calm the hell down._

The harshness came through without a filter, but Levine knew he needed to steamroll through.

 _You're not thinking about this clearly. Firstly, that's really, really risky. I might have already stayed too long, and getting rid of this will cause an investigation we can't afford. Not when it will draw resources away from finding Moira, and if it does conclude successfully, it's my ass,_ Levine thought, _And Charles, they may know what this is for, but they sure as hell won't know how to put it together. McCoy was supposed to make Einstein look like a child putting together a paper airplane. I looked at this and saw computer parts. It's likely the only reason they knew what it was was because Hank worked with some people and told them._

Charles was silent for a few seconds and Levine put the files away. As he did, he saw a slip of paper. He picked it up and put it in, hesitating only a moment when he saw just what it was.

 _Sonuvabitch._

 _What?_

Levine got up and pushed the file back in.

 _Someone copied the recquisition list,_ he thought, _I saw the order for it._

 _I wasn't looking. Who?_

Levine strode toward the door, gritting his teeth. He slipped out the door, trying to keep as focused as he could.

 _Stryker._

 _What?_

Pretending to be casual felt even more difficult than it had for the past few minutes. A telepath was in his head, his stomach was roiling with rage, and he had to dodge the cameras all the way back to the office.

 _He requested a copy of the list,_ Levine thought, _Not that he has the brains to put this together. I'd know if he had someone this damn smart on his team after all the time we've spent researching him. It's all military, and not military science. They're muscle, ex-mercenary types._

 _Levine, if he's requested a copy then it's something he's exploring,_ thought Charles, _It's not something I want to rule out. He's done experiments though, experiments on mutants. How can he do that without any scientists on his team?_

 _One second,_ Levine thought, _This one passage has some tricky cameras, and I need to concentrate._

Blessed silence. He weaved through them and continued walking. He didn't stop as he got back into the main office. No one was there, since, as a glance at the clock showed, they still had ten minutes left of lunch.

He took out the boy's card and wiped his fingerprints off it. He put it in the boy's desk, hidden slightly under the papers. He'd told the rest he needed to catch up on his paperwork, and he walked over to his desk.

Immediately, he laid his head down on the desk and closed his eyes. He groped for a minute and picked up a pen, putting it to the paper and then letting his hand go limp. They could snicker at him for falling asleep at his desk all they wanted. As long as they saw him as harmless.

 _Okay,_ Levine thought, _You still there?_

 _Yes. Now, what did you mean?_

His thought was urgent and Levine felt the urge to sigh again.

 _Look, he's had some partnerships over the years,_ thought Levine, _The one with Trask lasted a really long time, but then Trask got into that crash a couple years ago and his company went under. It was pretty much going downhill after the whole D.C. fiasco. He's in good with a tech firm, but he can't give them CIA files. That would violate everything._

 _And you think he wouldn't?_ Charles demanded.

Levine hesitated.

 _He's a scumbag_ , he thought, _So, yes, I can see that. I'm a little surprised they let him have a copy, even as an interagency loan, but apparently he can be persuasive, and it looks like this was before he decided to hold an agent against her will. But, again, you run into the same problem. It's not like a paint-by-numbers set.  
_

 _I understand that,_ thought Charles, _But what if he did have someone that smart?_

 _You'd still need a telepath to run it though, right? That was why Platt couldn't get it to work, wasn't it?_ Levine thought.

 _And if he had that?_ Charles thought, _He might be connected to someone who's at least using a teleporter and someone who has remarkably good aim._

Levine felt the pen twitch in his hands.

 _Then we might be in a lot of shit,_ he admitted.

* * *

The door opened and Martinique stepped inside. The child immediately pulled away, staring at her with wide, frightened eyes. Martinique knelt in front of her and smiled. The girl bit her lip.

She knew that Essex was saving the girl. After they'd used their experiments to give the girl respect for them, he'd ordered pain would only be administered as a reminder, just something routine. She wasn't like Martinique or Regan, hadn't understood what joining Essex had meant. She'd just been filled with righteous indignation. Teens.

She was so pathetic that she could barely stand to look at her. However, just this once, she needed her. Essex could keep her for whatever it was he had planned with the girl in the future. She had only a vague idea what that was, but she wasn't going to bother with any of that right now.

"Hello," Martinique said, "I need you to do me a favor."

The girl looked at her, still fearful, still suspicious. Martinique wanted to slap her, just to remember who was in charge, but she could keep things civil. Widening her smile she got to her feet and held out her hand.

"You can be helped up, or you can be dragged," said Martinique, "Trust me, I'd go with the first if I were you."

The girl tentatively put her hand in Martinique's. She jerked her to her feet, and the girl's hair nearly got caught in the blinking collar around her throat. Her blue eyes widened, and Martinique could feel her tremble.

"Good girl Emma," said Martinique, "Good girl."


	7. Chapter 7

The hallway echoed as footsteps approached, and Moira drew herself up. Her tongue felt fuzzy, and she struggled to stay conscious. Worst of all, at least for the moment, was the taste of vomit inside her mouth.

For whatever reason, she'd thrown up that morning. Pinpointing the exact reason was difficult at the moment, and she'd given up after about an hour. There hadn't been much to throw up except bile, but what food they'd given her that morning was gone, as well as most of her daily water. The little she'd had after that wasn't enough to get rid of the taste.

It had served to make her more dehydrated and, as such, she knew whatever Martinique had in store for her today would hurt more than usual. Her last cigarette burn still hurt.

She rotated her wrists. As usual, it didn't really do something now that they'd cuffed her in. She leaned back, swallowing and trying to ignore the sour taste as her throat tightened.

The door opened and, as she expected, Martinique appeared. The smirk on her face was wider than usual, and Moira wondered if she knew she would be weaker that morning. Something new and terrible was expected.

But the teenage girl she dragged in with her was still a surprise. The girl's wide blue eyes were taking in the scene, filthy blonde hair falling around he face. Her dirt-smudged face turned to Moira, and, even though her skin was almost the color of a lily, she managed to pale.

Martinique jerked her down so she was on the floor, using her hands to support herself. Instinctively Moira pulled forward, and her wrists ached. The girl looked up, cocking her head slightly.

"I don't know her," Moira managed, "There's no reason to bring her into this."

Martinique smiled and crouched next to the girl.

"Do you hear that Emma?" she said, "The nice woman is worried about you. She doesn't want you to be hurt. How thoughtful! What do you say to that Emma?"

The girl just swallowed and looked at the ground.

"Good answer," said Martinique, "Now, you remember what I told you to look for?"

Emma nodded and Moira felt something twitch inside her.

"If you encounter resistance, just keep pushing," said Martinique, putting one of her hands on Emma's shoulder, "And don't try anything clever with me, because you know I'll know. And that will just make it hurt."

Moira looked back at the girl, and her heart began to beat faster. Martinique pulled away Emma's filthy hair and, for the first time, Moira saw a thick collar was clasped around her neck. Martinique's fingers flew on what seemed to be a keypad, and it came off.

"You should've been more cooperative Moira," said Martinique, "Because, judging by how out of practice the little princess is, it's gonna hurt."

Emma looked up at her, her eyes pleading. Moira took a shuddering breath and braced herself. Emma sat back on her heels, closing her shining blue eyes and clasping her hands.

Ice stabbed her brain. Moira felt herself jerk back, but the physical discomfort was nothing compared to what she was feeling in her mind. It was like cold, sharp, thin fingers stirring her brain.

Frustration and fear leeched over her, but she knew it wasn't hers. It was Emma's, and she tried to reach out.

 _Emma, you don't have to do this. You don't have to let them-_

 _Don't talk!_ Emma screeched, _It'll make it worse, it'll make it worse! I don't want to hurt you, I don't! I don't have a choice!_

 _Emma!_

The pain increased, and it was like a fist punching her repeatedly. Emma was pushing with all her might, and Moira knew she was screaming. Her fingers clawed into the armrests she was buckled into, and her head flailed wildly.

Moira felt something shatter. She saw her research fly in front of her eyes, known facts, paper she had looked at. She saw the lists of names, of dates, of places, of politicians whose children were mutants and had begged her to find the types of people who might harm them.

Even in the midst of her pain, she could feel tears trailing down her eyes. She struggled to keep a hold onto it, but no matter how tight her grip was, it felt like it was all being whipped out of her hands.

Her mind went to her son. They would hurt him. They would take this information, hurt him, hurt Charles, Hank, Peter, Scott, Kurt, Jean, Storm, all the children like them. Even the girl going through her mind-

 _I'm sorry, I know you have a son, I'm sorry, I don't want to hurt you, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..._

 _Don't tell them about that!_ cried Moira, _The information if you have to, but please, leave everyone out of it! The students, I know you can see them, don't tell them!_

She could feel Emma hesitate.

 _I need them to be safe,_ Moira said, _Please, I know they'll kill me after they get this, but everyone else has to be safe. Don't you understand? They'll hurt him too._

 _I...you don't know how long I've been here. I know exactly what they can do to me if they're angry..._

Unbidden, images forced themselves into her head of pain, of burns, of cold, of watching the flesh melt off her bones from lack of food. She saw Emma curled up in a corner, fourteen, twelve, younger?

Moira felt the tears fall down her face even more, and she wished she could move, could do something.

 _Why do you care? You're...you...you said it yourself. You don't know me._

 _You didn't deserve that,_ said Moira, _You should've had better. I'm so sorry. I-_

More pain made her cut off the thought. She saw a blurry image of the room, Emma, trembling, Martinique, smiling.

 _I..._

The pain didn't disappear, but the room did. Instead she saw what looked like a blank room. She saw Emma looking at her, clean and with her hair showing itself to be a pale blonde, her face to be around sixteen. God. Just a child.

 _Please, they're safe right now,_ said Moira, feeling desperate, _I can't have these people find them. They'll hurt them. My son, everyone. I'm begging you. I...I don't think you'll be able to mask my research-_

 _She may kill me. She wants to. I don't even need to read her mind,_ Emma said, _She remembers that time I spit at her. I can see it in her eyes._

 _But please. So many lives are on the line,_ Moira said, _So many people can suffer if this goes wrong. Please. I need them to be safe, more than anything._

For a second, she saw the image of a woman in her twenties, her skin and hair dark. Her eyes were warm and she reached out. A memory of Emma's perhaps, something kind and from another time.

 _"I need you to be safe, more than anything," the woman said._

 _I miss her so much,_ Emma whispered.

"Emma!"

She got another image of the room, hazy though it was. Moira saw Martinique standing over Emma, holding something that resembled a cattle prod.

"Don't!" Moira managed.

Martinique stabbed it into Emma's hand, and it crackled with electricity. Emma screamed with pain and Moira felt it, coupled by another wave. It raced all the way down into her toes, pain like nothing she'd ever felt before.

* * *

Charles jolted forward in his chair. He clutched his head with one of his hands. It was sharper than a headache, but not up to the level of a migraine. It was just so sudden, and yet it felt different, but at the same time, familiar.

His mind immediately went to Kevin. Was that him? He would be in his room now. School got out early for the younger students.

 _Kevin?_ he said, _Kevin, is something wrong?_

 _No, nothing's wrong,_ said Kevin, _But, something hurt. It hurt in my head though. Not like a bump or bruise, but deep. Like a painful prickle..._

Charles frowned and thought. It sounded like a psychic event, and if that's what it was, and if he and Kevin had felt it, Jean would've too.

 _One minute Kevin,_ he thought.

 _Okay, should I go to your office? Is something wrong?_

 _I don't think so_ , said Charles, I _just need to talk to Jean._

 _But what if it's something bad?_

 _I'm sure it's fine,_ said Charles, _I'll be right back._

He wished he could stay and talk to Kevin and give him some sort of reassurance about what was happening. But the feeling was growing faint in his head, and he wanted to hold onto it until he discovered what it was. It was difficult to do that and hold too many conversations at once.

 _Jean, did you feel something a minute ago?_ he asked, _Some sort of pain?_

He felt Jean startle. Was she in physics? A test? No time.

 _Um, no_ , Jean said, _I didn't feel anything at all._

Charles's frown deepened. Jean was the most powerful mutant he'd ever come across. If this was a psychic event, she would've felt it. She had sensed Nur waking up halfway around the world. In her sleep.

She would've been able to feel it if this was based purely in some sort of event.

 _Yes, thank you,_ Charles said.

He cut off the connection and looked out the window. The feeling was fading. Why had he and Kevin been able to feel it and Jean hadn't? What was special, what was unique about him and Kevin that made things differently? What had they done that Jean hadn't?

Suddenly, he realized that they had both, from what Kevin had told him, been in Moira's mind more than once. Jean had never needed to do so. The feeling began to fade, and he latched onto it, desperate.

With all his strength, he followed it, followed the pain, but pushed off the physical sensation. It existed on a different plane. Charles ran into what felt like a wall her fence, pushing him back. It was tough, but he clawed at it. The pain and the trace were still fading, but it was there.

Warmth came down his face. His nose was bleeding again. He didn't care. She was there, he could tell it. He hammered again and again at the fence, at the last barrier between them.

Something was pounding back at him though. It hurt, but it seemed distant. He snarled. He had battled an ancient mutant in his mind, felt himself being taken over and fought it. He hadn't been triumphant, but he wasn't going to give up. Charles wasn't failing her again.

Finally, a crack appeared, and he pushed through it. He felt Moira faintly, felt her pain, her exhaustion, her confusion. He was feeling woozy as well, but he had to hold on. He brushed against her mind, tried to pull her with him.

 _Moira!_

 _Charles..._

He could have screamed with relief. She was still alive, but her mind was fading. He had to hold onto her.

 _Are you...the weird electric fences, the collars, you shouldn't be able to...who are you?_

A second voice? Who was that? He pushed further. Whoever they were, they needed to get away from Moira. They had no place in her mind, no place-

 _Please...we need help,_ the voice whispered, _I think they're going to kill her!_

It was getting harder to hold on. That damn fence kept trying to push him away, and it was like trying to swim through jello. Electrified jello. He just kept concentrating. Everything but this struggle was leaving.

 _Who!?_

God, it was all pulling away. Nothing he could do, no more tools left to fight. He pushed through it more, still feeling Moira's mind brushing up against his, this other one too. A girl? Yes, the age of one of his students.

But they were pulling away. He pushed his love toward Moira's mind, desperate to give her some sort of message and gather his strength. The other mind was fading in and out of focus. Something was slapping down. He heard something being clasped around a neck somewhere. Fingers on a keypad.

 _Nathaniel!_ the voice shrieked, _Nathaniel Essex! Please, I don't think they'll have much use for her or me soon-_

The voice cut off. Charles tried to get back in focus, but he felt something hard against his face. Pain, then nothing.


	8. Chapter 8

Jean stared at her history book, puzzled. What had just happened? Charles had never been so brief in the past, and she found herself wondering what he was talking about. Felt anything? Before this her biggest worry had been trying to remember when the Battle of Trafalgar Square had been.

She flipped the page when she felt something akin to a cry in her head. It made her feel weak in the stomach, and she bent her head, trying to stop from throwing up.

A hand touched her shoulder. Scott was looking at her, worried. Jean quickly glanced around. No one else was looking. Good. It did give her a momentary pause as to why Scott had been looking at her to start, but she shook it off.

She gave him a small shrug, but she also bit her lip. What was going on?

"Now, if you could all turn to page-" her teacher began.

There was a rumbling upstairs, where the offices were. Jean slammed her book shut and took off running. Footsteps began behind her, but they were too light to be her teacher's. Scott's then?

She took the stairs two at a time, heading upstairs.

 _Professor?_ she asked, _Professor?_

No answer. Her heart leapt into her throat and she pushed herself forward. The wood on the second floor was rumbling, and the pictures were falling off the walls. A vase tumbled off a nearby table and shattered on the floor.

She dodged the pieces but kept up her pace. Jean felt grateful for Mystique's training, for whatever it was that kept her running toward a hall that seemed to become increasingly long, elastic. It looked downright wobbly.

Jean turned a corner so fast she slid slightly. She had to fight the skid and return back to balance. The walls were beginning to smudge, or was that her vision? She hoped it was the latter, but couldn't rule it out.

Scott was suddenly beside her, but she didn't stop to tell him what she knew, or what she dreaded. Her fears were confirmed when she saw the door to the Professor's office was open slightly.

Breathing hard, she pushed the door the rest of the way open. The Professor was lying on the floor, his wheelchair having been tipped over. Blood was pouring from his nose and the side of his mouth, onto the floor.

Panic latched onto her, but there wasn't time for it to fully sink its claws in. Next to him Kevin knelt, one hand on the Professor's shoulder. His whole body was trembling as he shook him, tears rolling from his eyes. Each whimpered breath sent another tremor through the walls, warping them.

Scott clattered in, stumbling and staring at what he saw. She grabbed his arm.

"Scott, get Hank!" she said, "He's teaching anatomy right now. B12, okay?"

She would have called him herself, but she couldn't spend time figuring out which mind was his. Whatever Kevin was doing, it needed to be dealt with, and she needed to administer what first aid she knew. That would take all her concentration.

Scott gaped at the room, his eyes focused on Kevin. He'd noticed it too.

"Jean..." he said cautiously.

"I can take care of it," she snapped, "Go!"

Scott gave her a doubtful look, but ran off. Jean swallowed and tentatively approached. Kevin didn't seem to notice, just like he hadn't seemed to notice her conversation with Scott. His face was blotchy, his body still shaking.

"Kevin," she said.

He didn't turn. She touched his shoulder and he jerked. Nearby, three books flew out of the bookcase.

"Kevin, look at me," she said.

"I can't," said Kevin, his eyes still fixed on the Professor, "He needs to...I need to..."

"Listen, you need to let me take a pulse-"

"Go away!"

The entire bookshelf collapsed, the books spilling onto the floor. She looked at them, feeling her heart rate speed up. If Kevin wouldn't let her close, she doubted he would let Hank anywhere near the Professor. And the Professor really needed Hank to take a look at him.

Her eyes returned to Kevin. In so many ways, Jean understood. She really, really did. When her father had brought her to the Institute, she'd been frightened, disappointed in herself. The Professor had shown her what it was to be strong, to do something good with her mutation.

She also remembered what it had felt like when she'd felt Nur destroying the Professor's mind, felt him in danger, and she hadn't known how to help. He'd called her later, and she'd rushed to action, but that memory of helplessness was still strong in her mind.

And the Professor was dating Kevin's mother, who was missing. Kevin had clung to him as a safe harbor, and now he'd walked in on him with blood pooling on the floor. Yes, she would scream and throw things too.

"You need to concentrate," she said, "You're breaking things Kevin. You're..."

She looked at the smudging, blurry walls. What was he doing exactly? It wasn't good, that much she knew, but what was it?

"You need to stop Kevin," she said.

"He won't wake up," Kevin wept.

She moved closer, and cracks appeared in the floor.

"Shhhh," she said, "Shhhh. Let me get closer Kevin."

"Why won't he wake up?!"

A vase shattered. Jean swallowed.

"Kevin," she said, "I can help him if I get close. So can Hank, but you need to let me get close."

The boy was still crying, still frantically shaking him, but when she moved closer nothing shattered, cracked or fell. However, when she went to touch the Professor, take his pulse, the items on the desk clattered to the floor. A letter opener landed tip first into the wall.

"Please," Jean said, "I know you can't lose him. I can't lose him either. But unless I get close, I can't find out what's wrong."

Kevin's movements slowed, and then stopped. He closed his eyes, still shaking and crying. Jean looked back and forth from the Professor to Kevin. She didn't see any sign she could continue from the child, but it was worth the risk. She reached out and grasped the Professor's wrist.

Nothing happened. She did, however, feel a steady pulse. Jean let out a relieved breath. He was still alive, but she didn't like where the bleeding was coming from. He'd had traces of blood around his nose and mouth the night Moira disappeared. He'd said he'd followed her mind from place to place. It had taken almost everything. Had he done something even bigger? Without Cerebro.

She turned him over slightly, and saw that blood had, indeed, come out of his nose. However, blood had also come out of his mouth. If this was psychic in nature, and she had the feeling it was, given his earlier comments, then that didn't make much sense.

Vaguely, she remembered hearing about posterior nosebleeds. The blood would be from the deepest part of the nose and come from the mouth. Either way, he needed to be propped up, and the Professor was heavy. His legs might not work, but that hadn't stopped him from building muscle in his upper body.

If she used her powers, again, it wouldn't do her concentration any help. She needed everything she could remember what to do, because the panic was sinking in now. Jean looked at Kevin. The room was back to normal, although it was a mess.

"Kevin, help me prop him up," she said, "I need to help stop the bleeding."

Kevin opened his eyes and looked at her blankly.

"Help me," she said.

He nodded once and moved Working together, they managed to get him into something approximating a seated position. He was still bleeding, and Jean could feel it on her hands and arms. Oh God.

Freeing one of her hands, she grabbed the sleeve of the Professor's jacket and used it to pinch his nose. It was putting pressure, but what if the blood was blocking one of his airways?

Hank burst through the door. He looked scared, but he deftly picked his way through the scattered items. Jean looked up at him beseechingly and, in one movement, he gathered the Professor in his arms and picked him up.

"Jean, right his wheelchair," Hank said.

She did so, and Hank sat him down in it. He grabbed what looked like a handkerchief from his pocket and used it to apply pressure. Kevin stood by him as Hank opened the Professor's mouth. Taking out another handkerchief, he started to clean the blood from his lips, examining him.

"Who found him?" asked Hank.

"Me," Kevin said, his voice small.

"Did you hear something?"

Kevin shook his head.

"He was...talking to me earlier," he said, "And he stopped, and I was worried.

"What did he look like when you did?" asked Hank.

"He was on the floor, like, maybe, he'd fallen," Kevin said shakily, "There was blood on the floor, and he wouldn't move. He wouldn't get up!"

"I understand," said Hank.

Jean stared at Hank. His calm, even tone was something she yearned for.

"But we're going to fix that," Hank said, "Now, everyone, what led up to this?"

"He asked me if I felt something in my head," Jean said, "I didn't. I think it might have just been him."

"No, it wasn't," said Kevin, his eyes wide, "He asked me, and I felt it."

Jean looked at him in surprise. While she knew Kevin had enormous potential, she'd believed, perhaps vainly, that he wasn't as powerful as she was. She had felt Nur, and the Professor hadn't. What was this?

"Okay, I can only treat what's happening physically," said Hank, "I can't fix any sort of mental damage."

Scott ran in, carrying Hank's medical bag. He opened it and looked around the room, giving Jean a questioning look. She merely sighed in response. Hank started grabbing gauze and cotton balls.

"I need one of you to go in there and find out if anything's wrong," he said, his voice firm.

"I'll do it," Kevin said.

"No," said Jean, "I've been doing this longer."

Kevin nodded, although he still looked disturbed. In truth, Jean wasn't quite sure what she was going to do. However, she'd seen what Kevin would do if he saw the Professor in pain. She couldn't risk him doing that while in a mind.

She put two fingers to her head, calming herself as the Professor had taught her to do years ago. Inside, his mind felt like a labyrinth. A labyrinth in the shape of the school, but the halls were longer, more winding.

Most people, she knew, didn't have minds like this. They had minds that could be felt out. But telepaths, over time, he thought they might build their own fortresses. He'd only been in one other telepathic mind before, but he said she'd had a physical defense. However, both she and the Professor had both built places of safety separately.

It might be different if it were someone else's mind, but she'd been there before. She took off running.

"Professor!" she shouted, "Professor!"

No answer. She skidded past the halls. No one was there, but there was a cool mist rising through the halls. Was it always so dark in here? She had only been here briefly, he'd only told her that he had created his own walls before.

"Professor!"

She saw a light on in one of the rooms. Jean opened it, and there were people in it, but not him. She saw Moira picking up Kevin in the Professor's office, the two of them laughing. Jean could see the gold band on Moira's finger.

Jean ran past the hall. Further down she saw another room, filled with students and life. They were at their desks. No Professor. A room with the X-men. He wasn't there either. At every room with light, every room with people, he wasn't there.

"Professor!"

She paused for a minute, thinking. Where would he be, where hadn't she looked? Jean took off downstairs to where the X-men's halls were, the sleek, metallic halls. She rounded a corner and saw the Professor at the doors of Cerebro, on his feet, still with a full head of hair.

"Professor!" she yelled.

He turned and looked at her, surprised. Jean ran up to him, panting.

"Wake up," she said, "Please."

"Jean, you shouldn't be here," he said, "I...why did you feel you needed to come in here? What happened?"

"You passed out in your own blood," said Jean, "Kevin was crying, Professor, wake up!"

His face firmed up, and he gave her a brief nod.

"Thank you for telling me for...waking me up," he said, "I didn't realize I'd passed out...I suppose that was the floor coming up..."

He looked disturbed, but just shook his head.

"I'll be there soon. I promise."

She opened her eyes and saw the Professor splutter. Kevin immediately grabbed his hand, and the Professor squeezed back.

"I'm sorry for worrying you," the Professor murmured.

"You're okay?" asked Kevin.

He smiled and pushed some of Kevin's hair behind his ear.

"Yes, I am," he said, "I just...there's just some work I need to do."

"No, you don't. You're resting," said Hank, "What even happened?"

The Professor used his spare hand to rub his temples.

"I ran into a...mechanical device of some kind when I was looking for the source of...a feeling," he said, "It pushed me further than I thought, a block...but never mind."

Jean thought of that day on the plane, being unable to reach the pilots. Was this that? She opened her mouth to remind him of what she, Scott and Kurt had discovered, but the Professor looked at Hank, his face determined.

"I need to find out everything about someone named Nathaniel Essex who would have any sort of connection to Stryker or advanced technology," he said, "And I need it now."


	9. Chapter 9

Kurt put a comforting hand on Megan's back as she retched over the side of the ship. Amanda was on the other side, pulling the curls of pink hair away from her face. It's warmer that day, and Megan had said she didn't want to wear her hat. Kurt had seen Amanda tuck it into her coat just in case.

Amanda produced a napkin and wiped Megan's face. She threw it into a nearby trash can, one Kurt hoped would be emptied soon. It was overflowing.

"Are we there yet?" moaned Megan, sitting down on the deck.

"We have another week or so," Amanda said, her voice confident despite the haziness of the answer.

"I need to get this taste outta my mouth," said Megan.

Amanda handed her a bottle of water. Megan chugged it down, but she still looked upset.

"It didn't wash it out," she said.

"Soon you won't have to worry about seasickness," said Amanda, "And then I shall buy you hot chocolate in Times Square."

Megan smiled and Kurt leaned down.

"It vill be full of marshmallows," said Kurt, "So good und varm."

The girl smiled and sat back down, her ankles in her hands. Amanda looked over at Kurt curiously, although without any of the hostility he had seen in her that first day. Ever since then, Amanda had never looked at him like that. She would listen when she talked, and she had such a sweet voice.

Amanda had told him the two of them weren't originally from Latveria, but had stayed there for the past five years after moving between borders became more difficult. Their caravan had been moving through the forests when she'd decided it was time to try and get Megan to America. They'd heard distasteful rumors about cage fights, and she was sure that at least some of them were true.

If only she knew.

"You seem to know an awful lot about New York," Amanda said.

"TV," he said dismissively.

She raised one eyebrow.

"You had a lot more TV than I did," Megan said, "But Amanda would cut out pictures for me from magazines too. Actresses, singers, politicians in suits. There was this one, from a car ad, and he was my villain."

One of her gloved hands shuffled through her pink hair.

"I had to leave most of my paper dolls behind when we left," Megan frowned, "Someone probably burned them."

While the declaration was strange it was, by no means, the most surprising thing he'd heard since being with them. This one was probably the most normal. He was getting the feeling that Megan hadn't been treated very well where they were. Amanda, a human, had once told him she was making this trip for her little cousin.

Perhaps that was why she never saw any point in keeping her blankets or coat when Megan was cold. It was all for her after all.

"We'll get you new ones," Amanda announced.

"You haf an answer for everyzing, don't you?" Kurt said.

Amanda laughed, stepping up onto one of the bars of the railing. Unlike Megan, she always kept her hair loose. As she leaned over the railing, it streamed loose and free in the wind. He moved a little closer, just in case she fell over the edge. He knew she had amazing balance, but still.

"Don't we all?" she said.

She turned so her back was to the wind. Megan got to her feet and walked up.

"The wind's too strong to fly, isn't it?" she asked.

"I think so," Amanda said, her voice sympathetic, "But, just like the trip, it's not for too much longer."

Megan nodded, reaching behind her and scratching her back. She had wings, according to Amanda, but Kurt had never seen them. They helped keep her warm when they were pressed up against her back, Megan had explained. And Megan was often cold.

Kurt wasn't quite sure he believed her, but Amanda didn't seem to be the type to force her to hide her wings. In fact, he thought he saw her wince every time Megan talked about using her wings to keep herself warm. It was something he had the feeling Megan was only telling herself, like he'd told himself three fingers instead of five wasn't a big deal, or that he needed sunglasses even when it wasn't bright out.

Not that it was that easy to blend in. Even with a place that he knew was fairly accepting like the circus, he'd felt self-conscious all the time.

"And they might be alright with you flying around in America," said Amanda, "As long as you don't knock the airplanes out of the sky."

"Don't be silly," said Megan.

"No, there are lots of mutants in America I hear," Amanda said, "They have a singer who's a mutant, and she goes around and does shows."

"You vill like it zere," Kurt said, "Zere are so many lights, und people almost, but not as pretty as Amanda."

It was a bold statement, and Kurt immediately ducked his head down. He wasn't sure just where that boldness had come from, true though it was.

"No one's as pretty as her," Megan said, "But she should put on her pretty clothes sometime. The red dress. It really makes her glow."

"You glow, I don't," laughed Amanda.

"Kodi."

Kurt looked over his shoulder. Mystique was standing there, her arms folded and her fingers tapping her forearms. He sighed and got up.

"I vill see you all later," he said.

"Can't he stay?" asked Megan, looking hopefully at Mystique.

"No," Mystique said.

Amanda cocked her head, and he thought he saw her purse her lips. But she just put an arm around Megan and nodded at Kurt.

"We'll see you around," she said.

Kurt smiled and then walked up to Mystique. She put a hand on his shoulder and all but pushed him inside. He winced, the feeling that he'd done something wrong rising yet again. She hadn't needed him, so why was spending time with them wrong?

* * *

Mystique looked at Kurt's retreating back and shook her head, wondering what was going on in that boy's head. He was smart, she knew he was. So why was he wasting time getting chummy with the rest of the passengers? It wasn't smart to start building so many different connections. It made them vulnerable.

"I think he likes you," Megan whispered.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Amanda smile sadly and put a hat on Megan's head.

"Don't be silly rinkini," murmured Amanda, "He won't stick around. No one here will."

Mystique didn't stay to eavesdrop on the rest of the conversation. It seemed that at least the girl had a decent head on her shoulders. She walked through the next door and saw Kurt several feet away, slouched in his coat and waiting for her. He was slightly sullen, reminding her of his father. Someone else she'd lost, and the news from Hank wasn't particularly comforting for the rest of her family.

"I vasn't doing anything wrong," he said.

"You shouldn't go around talking to everyone you meet here," she hissed, her voice low, "It's a distraction, and we're not here to make friends."

He slumped and she grabbed his shoulder. Steering him into a small closet she held up her radio.

"Kurt," she said, "Charles managed to make contact with Moira today."

"Vhat?" asked Kurt, his eyes bright.

"He says she's still alive," said Mystique.

"Vunderbar!" Kurt said, smiling so she could see his fangs, "Vhere is she?"

"He doesn't know," said Mystique.

His smile faltered slightly. She tucked the radio away.

"But it was still useful," she said.

"Ja, she is alive," said Kurt, "Ve should be thankful."

That wasn't what Mystique meant. She knew just how temporary life could be. Someone being alive today didn't mean they would be alive tomorrow. It only meant that Charles might have had a chance to say goodbye. It was bitter comfort, but it was more than many people gone.

And yet, she didn't feel the need to tell Kurt that. Not just yet.

"Yes," said Mystique, "And we have a name now, something to go off of."

"Vhat name?" he asked.

"Nathaniel Essex," said Mystique, "I told Hank what I knew about him, but it's not much. He's a pretty shifty guy, has his fingers in a lot of technological experiments. There was a rumor he was doing something with mutants, but I didn't have anything solid. Not until now I guess."

"Does he have any holdings in Scotland?"

It was a decent question, and Mystique couldn't help her feeling of satisfaction.

"As far as I know, his company is based in America," she said, "But that means we need to start searching the ship for mention of him, see if anyone here is in contact with him."

"Okay," said Kurt, "Vhere do you need me to take you to?"

She smiled at him, grateful that, for the many things he didn't understand, he understood this. She put a hand on his shoulder and guided him out of the closet and down the hall. She managed to dodge the different crewmen, remaining with her head down.

They walked to one of the hallways, looking as though they were just heading back to the main area. At the last minute she motioned to him, and they stepped backwards into one of the alcoves.

Mystique waited, looking at one of the doors. After a few minutes a man opened the door. From her position she could see no one was inside the room. She jerked her head at Kurt, and he clasped her hand tightly, waiting as the door closed.

When there was only a sliver of sight, Kurt teleported inside. The door shut and, immediately, Mystique began looking around the room for what the man had been doing when he was there. She saw charts, a few other things. Oh yes, he was just making sure they were on course.

"Kurt, see where we are on the route," she said, "I'll see if I can't find any invoices, anything like that."

He sat down obediently and began tracing the path the ship was taking. While he didn't come with her on all her missions, most of them really, he did know the route by heart by now. She'd made sure of it, since it could end up saving his life.

Meanwhile, she crouched by the safe. She'd figured out the combination the third day of the voyage, but she hadn't gone through everything. Now she had an incentive to do so, and to do so quickly.

She riffled through them. Letterheads, logs, anything. After twenty minutes, she realized it wasn't in there. It was mostly money. Pathetic.

"Mystique?"

She looked up, frustrated. Kurt was staring down at something on the paper, his eyes furrowed.

"Zis is vrong," he said.

Mystique got up, stretching and looking over his shoulder. He pointed to a point on the map in Scotland, a map she hadn't seen before. His finger was gesturing to what seemed to be a few scribbled pencil markings.

It was new, but the whole map was filled with markings.

"Latitude and longtitude, right?" she said, pinching her nose.

"You vould zink, ja," said Kurt, "But, look."

She peered closer. Now that she really looked, that was the wrong latitude and longitude. Way wrong. That was definitely not 12 degrees East and 64 west. Mystique scratched her chin looking at it. 12 E and 64 W.

It wasn't that important, but she began to trace the route. If everything went well, they would stop in Scotland, keep going and, from the route, she knew they'd go past that. The numbers were strange, and it looked like they'd been erased and rewritten a few times.

She got close, letting her eyes examine the faint markings. Sometimes it said 8 E and 68 W. Another, 9 E and 67 W. Why did those numbers seem so familiar? Why were they striking a chord?

Then, she realized. If they were added together, they all equaled 76. From a manifest she'd seen earlier, that was how many passengers there were. Were they being sorted into two categories?

Mystique peered at the numbers and, as she did, she saw something that had almost been wiped out beneath the eraser markings. There was a landmass there, tiny, but big enough to have a name.

"We need to go," she said, "Teleport out the window and then back on the deck. Standard."

He got up, looking worried.

"Does zat mean anyzing?" he asked.

"Maybe," Mystique said, "I need to ask Hank to look up Muir Island first."


	10. Chapter 10

Emma coughed, her head hitting the hard, stinking metal of the floor. Her hands were twisted into the floor and, distantly, she realized there was blood underneath her fingernails. She'd been scratching at the floor.

"Well?"

She looked up. Martinique was there, the prod she'd used in one of her hands. Emma felt fear leech into every fiber of her being. Martinique was smiling again, and she knew nothing good ever happened when Martinique was pleased.

"So, you found it all, didn't you?"

Emma found herself wanting to nod, but she hesitated. She didn't dare look back at the woman in the chair, the woman she firmly believed was in more pain than she was. Her own silence, the absence of even a whimper, proved she'd passed out.

Soon though, her pain would be over. Emma didn't think that Martinique would keep Moira around after she got what she wanted out of her. Would she kill her quick or slow? Moira had seemed so kind, so she hoped it was quick.

And yet, why did she have to die? It was a small, insidious thought that curled up inside her head. She wanted to tell it to stop, that she didn't need it. Emma had to put herself first.

At the same time, Moira had cared. Moira had been kind. Even amid her pain, she had been kind. She had cried for her in her head. It was true that Emma didn't need pity, but it was such a rare quantity that it all but left her speechless.

Then there was that man in her head. Was he really going to help them, or try to? She hoped so. He was someone who cared about Moira, that much was plain. He was powerful too, having made it through all the trappings of Essex's hellhole.

Maybe he could find them. That would take time though, and she didn't know how much time they had. If he was able to come, then it might be too late for Emma. It would most likely be too late for Moira.

Martinique's hand shot up, grabbing her by her collar and yanking her to her feet. The metal dug into her throat and Martinique snarled at her.

"You're testing my patience," Martinique snapped.

She nearly giggled. What a stupid line. Had Martinique gone fishing in the encyclopedia of stereotypical evil sayings? The laughter didn't even make it to her throat though, given what had happened the last time she'd laughed at something Martinique had said.

Anger suddenly flared inside her when the urge to laugh died. She knew it was dangerous, knew she had nearly been killed for it in the past. Rage was an indulgence she could no longer afford. Rage and pride. They had been some of the first things to go.

But it was growing inside her nonetheless. She hadn't been born to the life of a slave. She'd been born a princess. They had taken everything from her, forced her to grub around on the floor, hurt her. Why should she help them instead of a woman who gave a damn?

It gave her a modicum of courage, and she used it before she could think twice.

"I...I think I got a lot of it," Emma whimpered.

Martinique pulled her closer, snarling. Emma flinched. She wished she was only acting, pretending to be more frightened than she actually was. However, this was exactly how frightened she was. She knew what fighting back, what signs of resistance meant.

But Moira had reminded her of her sister, another luxury she hadn't dared to indulge in. So she swallowed her fear and sought for her courage.

"I mean...I think I got a lot about the cults," she said, "There was more and then I...I...when you hit me, I lost it, and I was trying to find it, but I think she was just screaming so much, and I think I was hurting her, and then the collar came back on-"

Martinique threw her to the ground. Emma immediately curled up, protecting herself from the kicks she knew were coming. As usual, Martinique didn't fail to disappoint. But with each jolt of pain, Emma grew angrier. It was warm, fighting against the cold of the pain.

The kicks stopped, and Emma heard the click of Martinique's heels.

"How long do you think she needs to recover? Her brain's probably mush right now."

Emma licked her lips and tried to think of something that would sound plausible. Martinique, she realized, was underestimating Moira's strength. She wasn't sure if this Charles had felt what she had while she was inside of Moira's head, that burst of mental adrenaline.

That could be good.

"Three days," Emma said.

Martinique snorted and grabbed her by her collar. She was already dragging her down the hall before she answered.

"You have two."

Emma hoped it would be enough.

* * *

"So, what caused this?"

Essex sighed as he peeled the latex gloves off his hands. Regan watched him, bored. The only thing less interesting than an autopsy was watching Essex clean up afterwards. He was so methodical it was maddening.

As such, it had taken him a long time to take apart the bodies of his soldiers to satisfaction. He was looking for every shred of evidence. Regan was just angry at the detour from their destination, but also slightly anxious. The men's death had been brutal in a way that even made her wince.

"They were all killed by bullet wounds," said Essex, "The type of gun is familiar. I issue it to you, even gave it as gifts to Stryker's pets."

"They might be able to hear you," murmured Regan, looking at the door.

"No, they won't," Essex said, "And if they did? They're his creatures, so they might complain to him, if they think he gives a damn. He even let us have Kestral back, although I could've told him teleporters can only teleport where they can see."

"He thought he could push him," Regan yawned, "I heard them talking about it."

"Well, more fool him then," said Essex, "He could've gotten Kestral stuck into a CIA wall, no closer to MacTaggert's research. If your sister's done her job, she'll have it waiting for us when we get back."

He turned on the sink and began washing his hands. Regan waited, but soon lost patience. God, he was infuriating.

"So, do you know who did it?" she asked.

"Why the curiosity Regan?" asked Essex.

"Because they're saying it's Logan out there," she said shortly.

Essex laughed and dried his hand.

"Well, his old comrades might well have reason to fear him coming back. You too," said Essex.

As if she needed to be reminded.

But their fear is ludicrous," said Essex, "If Logan survived all that at the compound, and he very well could have, his healing factor was the most impressive I've ever seen, he would be in Canada, not in Europe. I doubt his mind would be in any state to have him plot this kind of heist."

"I thought they only got maps of some of our locations," said Regan, "And, to me, it looked like they just killed the guards and did a runner."

"True enough," said Essex, "But I put a little safety measure for our friend Mr. Logan. It was foolish to let Stryker give him a test run, granted, but he wasn't supposed to let him out before he put in the final program. Without commands, he was a feral animal. If he's alive, he's probably killing and eating bears in the mountains."

"Xavier's people then?" asked Martinique.

"They don't use guns," Essex said, "And these are very good shots. Not up to Zero's level, but still very good."

"So who?"

Essex crossed his arms thoughtfully.

"I have some theories, but they mostly involve the dead," he said, "I'll think it over. Tell the team it's time to move out. I heard there's quite the crop headed to Muir Island. And the delay here's cost me enough time."

Of course, it hadn't just been the delay here. He'd been waiting for the final parts to some sort of machine to come. He'd put several of them together on a hangar, muttering curses to himself in languages and phrases dead to most modern ears.

"I think it's time to visit MacTaggert and my...daughter," Essex said. "Yes. I'm in a hurry to meet them both. Not to mention it's time to see if Emma can live up to her potential."

Regan nodded and headed toward the door. She thought again of Logan, of the last time they'd met. She'd nearly been gutted before Martinique and her had brought him down, with a little help from his brother. It was the one time she'd been grateful for her sister.

If he was alive, she was glad he'd be too much of an animal to come back. Then again, if he'd just trained the Silverfox bitch like he'd been supposed to instead of screwing her, then things would've gone so much smoother.

* * *

When Charles woke up, Hank was finishing exchanging an IV. Once Hank realized he was awake, he quickly put a finger to his lips. Charles frowned, but Hank jerked his head to the side.

Kevin was curled up on the chair next to him, asleep. Charles couldn't help the sadness that welled up inside him.

"How long has he been here?" asked Charles.

"He never left," said Hank, his voice low, "Charles, you didn't see him when I first came in. He was shaking Charles. Physically shaking. Jean, who found you two, said his gifts were going crazy."

"He's shaken some things in the past when he was upset," said Charles, "Just like Jean. Just like any of us would have."

Hank looked like he would have said more, but Charles tiredly turned his head to him.

"When did I pass out?" he asked.

Hank didn't meet his eyes.

"You sedated me, didn't you?"

"After the first few minutes," admitted Hank, "You needed rest, real rest, not the kind you get when you're knocked out. And you just wanted to start researching."

"What else am I supposed to do?" asked Charles, "I felt her Hank. She was in pain. I know she was."

"And we'll find her, but you need to be at your peak running condition," said Hank, "You never let Alex go out with a wrenched arm, and if I had a concussion you wouldn't let me out of doors. You'd lost a ton of blood Charles. I had to dig up some of our reserves."

His eyes flickered down to the IV, and Charles suddenly realized what it was for. However, he wasn't budging.

"Kevin needs his mother," he said, "He needs Moira back."

"You need her too," said Hank.

Charles hesitated, and Hank sighed, still keeping his voice low.

"You don't have to pretend that you don't need her, that you don't love her," he said, "You don't have to be ashamed of wanting things."

"Moira isn't a thing," Charles said, "She's a person in danger."

"You knew what I meant," Hank said, "And yes, she's in danger. Yes, things are going bad. But she'll be pissed if you're dead. She loves you too, don't forget that."

"I know," said Charles, "All the more reason why I have to find her."

"Kevin needs you too you know," Hank said.

"Trust me, I know that," said Charles, "Someone else needing me to come through."

Hank didn't say anything for a moment. Charles turned his head away, back to Kevin. The child's face was puffy. He hadn't seen him that exhausted in many nights. How hard had he cried for the second person he cared about to be taken from him? True, Charles was fine, but Kevin hadn't known that.

"You're not doing this alone, believe it or not," said Hank, "We all share in the blame for her getting taken. Peter feels it, Kurt feels it."

"It's not their fault," Charles said.

"Then how come it's yours?" asked Hank, "Moira and Kevin don't need you to be guilty, and guilt shouldn't be your driving factor."

Laughter burst from Charles. Hank looked at him, startled, and Kevin shifted in his sleep, but it was too much. Charles quieted for a moment, tears building up in his eyes as he stared at Kevin.

"It's not guilt that's driving me," said Charles, "No. For once it might be selfishness, because I don't think I want a world where we're not in it to raise Kevin together. Because..."

He swallowed. A stray thought ran through his head, at how strong Erik had been to carry on after losing his wife and daughter.

"Because I don't think I want to live in a world where she isn't there," said Charles, "And if that's not selfish, I don't know what is."

Hank let out a little chuckle now, and Charles turned.

"That's not selfishness, that's not wrong," said Hank, "I think that's just love."


	11. Chapter 11

"Psst, Kodi."

Kurt rolled over. Amanda was sitting up, her sweater on, but her coat missing. Most of her blankets were piled high around Megan, who was awake, but still curled under the blankets. Kurt yawned and blinked slowly.

"Ja?" he asked.

"Come on," she said, grabbing her shoes and slipping them on, "It's the right time."

He propped himself up and looked at Mystique. She was still asleep, but, wherever Amanda wanted to go, he knew she wouldn't like it. Besides, what time was it? Maybe three in the morning?

"Amanda, vhere are ve going?" he asked.

"Just grab your coat and come on," she said.

She gingerly picked up her coat from the pile of blankets and coats over Megan. He glanced at her, and Megan grinned. She looked like a little elf, burrowed beneath the earth, preparing for some unseen mischief.

"Amanda," he said.

"We're just going on deck," said Amanda, "Megan doesn't want to come, but she'll be fine. We'll only be up there for half an hour."

"Ve're not allowed," Kurt said.

"They don't put someone on watch, I've checked," Amanda said.

Kurt looked over at Mystique again, but when he looked back at Amanda, she was smiling so sweetly. He felt whatever resistance he had crumble as he grabbed his coat and got up.

She grabbed his wrist and began deftly moving among the sleeping passengers. He felt himself blush, knowing he was probably turning an embarrassing shade of purple. With any luck, she would just chalk it up to the cold.

True to her word, there wasn't anyone there. They did encounter some crew members a little further up, but Amanda neatly flattened herself against the wall. She was still holding Kurt's wrist, so he had to follow suit. Not that he'd need her to tell him. Mystique had already trained him in this sort of thing.

When they were gone, she moved forward and pointed to a ladder. She let go of his wrist, much to his chagrin, and began climbing up. Kurt looked at the height and sighed, but followed. Mystique had told him it was a bad idea to let anyone know he teleported. So, at the moment, most people thought he merely looked like a demon, and he was forced to take the long way up.

She reached the top and smiled, twirling once. He looked at her for a moment. She'd always seemed so light, so airy. Amanda noticed him looking and ducked her head quickly. If he didn't know any better, he'd say she was blushing herself.

"Anyway," she said.

Amanda straightened her jacket before laying down on the deck. Kurt followed suit, still wondering what was going on. But when she pointed straight up, he realized why they were up there.

"Orion is up zere tonight," he murmured.

"Not just Orion," said Amanda, "Look, you can see all of his dogs. And Eridanus, both of the bears. It's a parade up there right now Kurt."

She sighed in contentment, her breath curling in soft white clouds from her lips. He smiled. He always did that so much around her.

"You've watched a lot of TV," she said, "Do you think we'll be able to see all of the stars there too?"

He worried his lip. Having been in big cities, he knew it was unlikely. Everything Amanda had said made him think she'd end up working somewhere in New York City to support her and Megan. Having been there once, he knew there were no stars.

"No," said Kurt.

She took a deep breath before letting it out, her soft breath once again curling in front of her face.

"Then I'm glad I got to see it one last time," she said, "Megan was never really into this. But, well."

She moved her hands so that they were stationed behind her head, a pillow.

"It just seemed, after all the chaos of the day and the cramped little caravan where we lived, there was this whole world out there," she said, "It was big, and it stretched everywhere. I used to lay out on the grass, just watching the stars, wondering what would happen if I followed the bear all the way to the north. What I'd find there."

Kurt felt his throat clog.

"Sometimes, I vould lay outside, but..."

She turned to him slightly, her blue eyes questioning. He shrugged, suddenly feeling embarrassed.

"I vould vonder if mien parents were looking up at the same stars," he said.

Amanda turned so she was facing him, not the stars. Her expression was questioning, and Kurt wanted to tell her the truth. He wanted to tell her everything about him, because he could tell that the mind behind those beautiful blue eyes would understand.

But he couldn't.

"Oh, before mien aunt found me, I vas...my parents had to leave me behind, ja?" he said, "I never knew who zey vere. Und I vould just think about all the places they could be, all the possibilities."

His tail snuck its way out from beneath him, making a vague gesture as he spoke.

"Zis vone, zis vas silly," said Kurt, "But, vhen I vas seven, I had never seen anyvone like me. Everyvone vhere I vas did not make me feel hated, but it vas differnet. Und zen, zere vas zis report. All ze vay from America."

The next words were difficult to swallow, but, again, there was no judgement from Amanda's clear blue eyes.

"Ze hero," he said, "Saving ze president. Und, you know how little children...zey...she looked a little like me, ja? Not exactly, und vhen I saw more pictures when I got older, not really at all, but at ze time...ja. She vas blue."

He closed his eyes, remembering his childhood hopes and thoughts. Given the last few weeks, it was really embarrassing.

"I used to pretend she vas mein mother," he said, "Und zat, she had to go und do something big, but she vas forced to give me up. She vould come back vhen it vas safe."

Kurt gave a half shrug.

"Pretty dumb, ja?"

Amanda didn't answer. He took let her silence wash over him, his eyes still staring at the darkness of his eyelids.

"When Megan was five, some of the boys took to calling her...well, it doesn't translate well," said Amanda, "Just...try 'unclean.' She came to me, crying, sobbing, because they said she was a fairy, and evil, and she would never be anything."

Kurt opened his eyes and looked at her. To his surprise, he realized she hadn't moved, that she'd been looking at him the whole time.

"And I told her she was just a mutant, that it didn't mean anything," said Amanda, "But she kept crying. Her mother had just died and...she wasn't in any position to deal with these things. And I knew that, even if I beat the tar out of those boys, it wouldn't help how she was crying."

Another breath. From where was, he could just about feel the warmth before it turned into pure cold.

"So I took out one of my magazines, a secret one we'd gotten from a little underground newsstand on this one block of Latveria," said Amanda, "And I showed her the hero. She cut out her picture, and she was her favorite paper doll. It wasn't a good picture, but it was special to her. Because it showed her she could be a hero."

Amanda looked down for the first time, a stray lock of golden hair falling in front of her face.

"Megan never asked me where she came from, or if boys had called her names growing up," said Amanda, "Because I think Megan knew. And, I think it didn't matter where she came from, what her background was. She could've been any of us, human or mutant, because she took a stand that day. She chose to do the right but hard thing. She chose the narrow way. I never appreciated it until I saw the expression on Megan's face. And that...that made her worthy of admiration no matter who she was. Because she gave a little girl courage to walk outside, a little boy courage that his parents didn't abandon him."

She looked up at him, and he felt her blue eyes curling around him. He'd thought her beautiful before, but, in that moment, he realized that he'd had no idea just how beautiful she was, how perfect.

He breathed out, saw scraps of his breath moving toward her skin. He longed to trace its path with his fingers, felt his heart beat with so much he wanted to tell her, so much he couldn't. Not with his mission, not with Moira's life at jeopardy.

Instead, he cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Vhat happened to those boys?" he asked.

Amanda grinned.

"I beat the tar out of them anyway," she said.

Kurt laughed. He laughed so hard his ribs hammered against the skin of his chest, so hard that it hurt and brought half-frozen tears to his eyes. Her laughter joined his, and Kurt knew he was going to take this moment with him forever.

* * *

Kevin awoke with his face buried onto a soft pillow. It wasn't right, because he'd fallen asleep in a chair. He'd been tucked in, and, in the haziness, he pushed himself up. He spotted Charles right away.

He was seated at a computer, typing away, and Kevin flung the comforter off. Charles turned as Kevin rushed up to him. For a moment, they just looked at each other, and Kevin had to fight the tears coming to his eyes.

He hugged Charles awkwardly, too tall to grab his legs, not tall enough to wrap his arms around his shoulders. Because of his height he ended up just clutching his torso, halfway impeded by the armrest.

 _I'm alright Kevin,_ Charles said, his hand awkwardly settling on his back.

 _Now you are,_ said Kevin, _But you were bleeding everywhere._

 _I know, I'm sorry,_ said Charles.

Although he was silent on the outside, Kevin wanted to throw a tantrum. He knew he'd pretty much thrown one earlier, but what was he supposed to do? He'd seen Charles, all the blood, but he hadn't been able to scream.

He shielded his inner thoughts, not wanting Charles to see how afraid he'd been, but he couldn't help some of that worry coming through.

 _I never wanted you to worry,_ Charles said, _Kevin, you must know how fond I am of you, how much I care. I wish you didn't have to see any of that. I didn't even realize that you would be alarmed by my question earlier, that you would come. I just thought...I thought it was a lead to finding your mother._

 _Did you?_ asked Kevin, looking up.

Charles looked hesitant, and Kevin knew the answer. He sighed.

 _I found a lead,_ Charles said, _I think we're very close. My sister radioed in with a place. I think that she might be held at a black site of his._

"Black site?" asked Kevin.

He blinked, having not even realized that he'd switched back to speaking out loud.

"It means a site that's not publicly listed," said Charles, "But Hank managed to find a great deal of information on their server, shipments, things like that, all going to this one tiny, uninhabited island. It's not on most maps that I can find, and the currents are supposed to be treacherous. It's like it doesn't exist, and we'll have to figure out a safe landing site."

How long had Kevin been out? He glanced at the clock, and started at the time. He'd slept for hours.

"If he's the one behind this, and he's keeping your mother, and we believe both, it's likely she's being held there," Charles said, "We've got to rendezvous with my sister and Kurt, they'll have to figure out a landing site...but..."

Kevin looked up at him, his arms tightening around his middle.

"Are you going after them?" he asked.

Charles put another arm around his shoulders. It was a tight grip.

"Yes, yes I am," he said, his voice low, controlled.

"Mom's gonna be okay, right?" he asked.

"Of course," said Charles, "I won't...I'll make sure she's fine."

Kevin swallowed once.

"And you'll be fine too, right?"

Charles's grip on his shoulder tightened a little more.

"Yes," he said, "I'll be fine. I'm going to find your mother Kevin, and I'm going to bring her home."


	12. Chapter 12

"So, we're flying coach? Dude!"

Hank rubbed his temples. This was actually happening.

"We're trying not to attract attention," said Charles, "And since we haven't rebuilt the Blackbird yet, and I don't believe you can run across an ocean, yes, we are going to fly coach to Scotland."

"Okay, yeah, I get that, even if I do have to spend like, a day, inside this totally small and boring area," whined Peter, "And that, by the way, is totally maddening."

Charles gave him a level look, and Hank knew what he was thinking They'd had to take a plane to get back to America after Cairo. Yes, it had been maddening, but not for Peter. Hank knew he'd spent the entire flight switching out books and napkins, stealing glasses.

It made him want to strangle him.

"But, I mean, can't you at least get us first class tickets?" asked Peter, "Aren't you super rich or something?"

Or something. Hank looked over at Charles, who was looking at Peter with the sense of eternal patience he seemed to possess in spades.

"Peter, we are trying not to attract attention," he said, "And, for the most part, a father and his two children don't attract attention. Neither do three separate individuals."

"We're not sitting together?" asked Jean, surprised.

"No," said Charles, "I don't think our enemies know who we are, but it seems like a possibility. I would rather not give them any advance warning."

"We actually bought all the tickets with different credit cards," said Hank, "We have a couple of different accounts."

"Okay, I get that," said Scott, "So...who's traveling alone?"

"Storm, Peter and Hank," said Charles.

"I don't even get anyone to annoy?" asked Peter.

And that was why he was sitting alone.

"Wait, so Jean and I are gonna be your children?" asked Scott.

Hank had to chuckle inwardly at his expression. While he knew Scott appreciated the ruse, he knew about Scott and Jean's mutual attraction. It was going to be uncomfortable to pretend to be her brother.

He'd mentioned this to Charles, who had merely shrugged. When it came down to it, Scott and Jean were the ones who looked the most alike. Scott looked a little younger than Jean, and they could easily pass as a family. Just as long as Scott and Jean didn't start flirting with each other.

Then again, given their last conversation on the subject, they weren't going to be kissing anytime soon. He didn't think Scott was going to be changing his mind either, and he could respect him for his decision.

Again though, it was clearly wierding him out.

"You're about the right age, give or take a few years," said Charles, "I'm not as young as I was you know."

"So I can't pretend to travel alone," Scott said.

"No, that will fall to Storm," said Charles, "She can pass for 19, and a 19-year-old won't cause much comment from airport attendants."

Scott sighed and folded his arms.

"Now then," said Hank, "Any questions?"

Peter raised his hand.

"Is this an actual question?" asked Hank.

"It ends in a question mark if you write it out," said Peter.

"I mean about the mission," said Hank.

"Yeah, yeah."

Hank sighed, already knowing he was going to regret this.

"Yes?" he asked.

"So, are there gonna be inflight meals?" he asked, "Because that food is shit."

"Moving on," said Hank.

"That was totally a question!"

"We're going to be landing in Edinburgh, and then renting a car to take us to the coast," said Hank, "We've identified a place where we can rent a boat, but without advanced seamanship skills, we're going to need some knowledge of the currents and someone spotting us in. That's where Kurt and Mystique will come in."

"Are they sure the ship will stop there?" asked Storm.

"Pretty sure," said Hank.

He gestured to Storm.

"See Peter? That was an example of a question I'll answer," he said.

"Loser."

"Peter, please," Charles said.

He turned to Storm.

"They've seen it on their ship's navigational maps. Even if they're not offloaded there, Kurt can teleport them onshore," said Charles, "We'll be in close radio contact with them, and they'll tell us when they're ready. We want to be in and out as quickly as possible."

"And the return journey?" asked Scott, "That's gonna be a little complicated."

"We drive straight into England," said Hank, "Charles's family owns some property there that we're going to use as a temporary safe house as we book another flight. Private this time."

"You are super rich!" Peter said, "Why the hell are we flying coach on the way over?"

"For the last time, we can't attract attention!" snapped Hank, "Not if we can help it. And we're flying private on the way back because..."

He looked over at Charles, hoping for some kind of confirmation or denial. Charles gave a tiny nod, his eyes dark.

"Because we don't know how badly Moira will be injured, how badly any of us will be injured," said Hank, "And the caution that we carried over with us will have to take a slight backseat to taking care of her and any wounded we have. Understand?"

Peter nodded, lowering his eyes. He was quiet for the rest of the session, and for no real reason Hank could describe, he missed the chatter.

* * *

Moira rolled over on her pallet, her hands folded over her stomach. Normally she would try to curl up for a bit of warmth, but her stomach felt like it was being stirred by an electric mixer. She couldn't afford to throw up again. There wasn't enough water, and there wasn't enough food. She needed this for whatever she wanted to do.

Her mind felt a little slushy, but she was still alive. That was good. Being alive meant she had a chance of getting back to Kevin, to Charles, to freedom. She just needed to keep her wits about her.

It had been almost two days since she had seen Emma, the young, tired girl with fire that had been quenched by fear. How long had she been there? What was that collar around her neck? Why was she even there?

Of course, Moira still wasn't sure where there was, so maybe that question wasn't as useful as she'd hoped it would be. Still, it was a question worth asking. She just might have to ask it a little later.

She rolled on her side, trying to quiet her stomach while her mind worked. Martinique, it appeared, had used Emma as a last resort. If that wasn't the case, then she would've brought her out much sooner than she had. Instead, she had waited weeks.

So, she was desperate for what was in Moira's head. Why was she desperate? Why did she need this information? Martinique didn't strike Moira as a scientist of any kind, but she'd been wrong before.

It appeared that she needed this for something, not what Moira could do, but what she knew. She was still alive though, which was puzzling for many, many reasons. She was grateful, but it didn't make much sense.

Another tremor from her stomach. Right. Maybe the facility was more than just a prison. She was asking for scientific research after all. Well, that's what most of her exclusive knowledge pertained to. And she hadn't specified what she wanted, so it was likely she wanted everything.

Her stomach roiled again and Moira groaned. God, why was this so difficult, so painful? It all felt like one giant mass that was getting ready to force its way out. What were they feeding her to make her do this?

For most of her life, Moira had been blessed with a perfect bill of health. She'd had the occasional flu, but no stomach bugs. Yes, she'd invented them from time to time to get out of work for when Kevin got sick and Levine was busy, but not this. She'd never thrown up this bad, not in years, not since...

Not since Kevin had been born.

She clutched her fingers in the cloth of her shirt. No. No, she wasn't pregnant. This wasn't morning sickness. She couldn't be pregnant. She'd taken her pills religiously for most of her life, pausing only once when she'd wanted so badly to have children. Her cramps during her period were too intense for her to afford a missed dosage.

But, now that she thought about it, really thought about it and counted the weeks, that was no protection. She'd been due to take the pill on the day Nur had launched missiles into the sky, disarming all the nations. Moira always took hers at night, something she didn't mind because it had been so long since she'd been sexually active.

That night, however, she'd been locked up in Stryker's cell, and then she'd been flying on a plane to fight an ancient mutant and rescue what she'd thought was a passing acquaintance. In the aftermath and the madness, the pure chaos, she'd never thought about taking it.

And then, that night with Charles, that walk back to the Institute which had ended in his room, in his arms. Telling him she loved him, his hands in her hair, his adoring eyes on her face, feeling something she wasn't sure she'd ever really felt before.

She closed her eyes tightly. Given her age, she'd thought she would never have children again. Forty-five wasn't impossible, but it was highly unlikely. That, coupled with the fact she hadn't been seeing anyone, made it seem as though Kevin was her only son. But Charles had changed everything.

Moira had the feeling Charles had closed the door on that chapter of his life when the bullet pierced his back. It made it, she assumed, a remote chance that he would be able to father a child due to his condition. He'd contented himself with acting as a surrogate father to the children in his school.

Tears gathered behind her eyelids. Then there was Kevin. Kevin, who had few friends but had once asked for a little brother. She could see it now, the three of them, a newborn in their midst. Kevin would be curious at the new arrival, Charles, delighted, and she would be speechless at how lucky she was.

Moira flattened her hands, felt what, now that she was looking for it, was a slight firmness. There was a tiny life there, only a few weeks old. She was sure of it with every growing moment. And, in these first few weeks, she was going to be in a cold cell, with food that wouldn't help the baby, stressed and tortured.

A new thought occurred to her, one that stabbed her to her heart. What if she lost the baby? What if all the torture and the pain, mental and physical, caused a miscarriage? Martinique had focused on mental pain mostly, although the cigarette burns that decorated her arms declared it wasn't the only thing, but what if she changed her mind?

Again, her hands fisted in the cloth of her shirt, and she wept. She wept because, unlike her last pregnancy, she wouldn't be able to protect the child like she wanted to. She wouldn't be able to spend these weeks watching what she ate, picking out items for a nursery, gathering clothes, counting down the days. There would be no shower, no well wishers. The reaction the child had prompted was one of fear, not joy.

And she was sorry for all of that, but, as she curled around the life growing inside of her, she knew that she wasn't going to die there. She wasn't going to let someone like Martinique take this child from her, not when she wanted it so bad, when Charles would want it, when Kevin would want it.

With a renewed sense of strength, she closed her eyes again, wiping away her tears. She wasn't going to lose the baby. She was going to win.


	13. Chapter 13

"Whatever happens, stay close."

Kurt looked over at Mystique, whose eyes were darting back and forth. The boat was docking in Scotland, but Kurt hadn't seen the mainland yet. Mystique had assured him they should have by this point if that was where they were really going.

"I vill," he murmured.

"Keep it in Latverian," she murmured, "Let me do the talking, and don't go wandering off this time."

Kurt stiffened. Mystique was, as he suspected, angry at his sudden disappearance with Amanda. She'd been up, waiting, when he and Amanda had stumbled back to the main hold. Her eyes had been colder than usual, giving Amanda a look that could make fire grow frost.

Amanda had simply smiled at her before laying down next to Megan. The little girl had been up too, but, instead of the dark look Mystique had given him, greeted Amanda with light eyes and a cheerful grin. She'd flashed him a mischievous look, every inch the small troublemaker from fairy tales.

But that had been a night ago, and Kurt was starting to wonder if it had been a dream. For the most part, Amanda acted no different toward him. However, every now and then, there would be a quick look, a secret smile. Whatever it had been that had touched him on the top of that ship, that had sent his being racing in a thousand different directions, she had felt it too. He knew it.

Then again, to what degree had she felt it? Had she felt it like him, where it thrummed from the crown of his head to the tip of his tail? Or had it merely been a dull patter? Amanda was beautiful, and Kurt was no fool. A woman like her, with her rare smile, sharp wit, and sleek confidence could have had any man she wanted at the snap of her fingers. A man who looked like a gargoyle probably wasn't someone she'd snap for.

And yet, those smiles. Those looks. Was it just friendship, an acknowledgement that, in all likelihood, they were both in over their heads in their lives? He didn't know, but he wanted to. He wanted to know so badly what was going on inside her head that it ached.

Next to him, he saw Amanda bring Megan up, their hands clenched tightly together. Everyone had been ordered to the deck, but she had stayed behind to make sure Megan was properly bundled. Amanda gave him a small look, smiling and ducking her head. His heart leaped into his throat and he managed a smile back.

"Face forward," Mystique hissed.

He did, shrugging his shoulders into his coat. She moved a little closer to him, her face puckered together.

"So, you know what to do when we get to the island?" she asked.

"Yes," he said shortly.

She gave him a side glance.

"You know it's likely...you know it's likely we won't be coming back, right?" she asked.

"What?" he asked, alarmed.

"Keep your voice down," Mystique said.

Kurt looked at her, blinking several times. When had that become part of the plan?

"We go, and we pick out a landing site," she said, "We'll be there to greet the rest of the team when we start scouring the island to look for Moira. She should be fairly easy to find, and this is the only real place he can keep her for as long as he has."

"Yes, but-"

"We need to succeed. If we fail, we'll have tipped our hand," she said, "And Moira will have probably outlived her usefulness."

Kurt swallowed, his eyes fixed out on the horizon, and his insides growing chilled. Of course he wanted to rescue Moira. That was what this was all about in the end. She had been taken, mistaking another teleporter for him in the heat of battle.

But, to have had so little warning with his own feelings so mixed and confused.

"So I hope you've told your golden-haired darling whatever you need to," said Mystique, "Because we're not getting back on this hellhole."

Kurt gave her a desperate look. Her face softened slightly and she put a hand on his shoulder. It was so unexpected that Kurt flinched, and her hand quickly retreated to her side. Kurt bit his lip, ashamed.

"I just found out myself," she murmured, "And, for the record, it was a terrible idea getting attached to her. But...people in our position? We can't afford to waste time or by shy. Just so you know. Just so you remember."

He looked at Mystique, at how honest she seemed. He'd never seen her so unguarded and, for a moment, she seemed lost to another time. It was so oddly human that, like the attempted comforting touch of his shoulder, it was startling.

It would have held his attention normally, but her words were still echoing in his head. He looked over at Amanda, pointing out the shore to Megan. Amanda wasn't wearing her hat today, he thought it might be in her pocket. Her hair, as usual, was free. Her face was flushed, her eyes sparkling.

Her eyes raised to meet his and, in that moment, he tried to show his feelings on his face. It wasn't something he excelled at, no, but it was all he had to communicate with her. There would be no chance to speak soon, and it was unlikely the two of them would ever meet again after this.

She cocked her head to the side, frowning, but a noise filled the air. Kurt tore his eyes away from her and saw a boat approaching theirs. It was smaller, faster. The waves frothed behind it as it cut through the water.

Mystique moved closer to him, grabbing his hand. He looked from her to the boat, uncertainty growing. Someone had thrown down a ladder, and now someone was climbing up, her hair pulled behind her in a ponytail.

The young woman stepped onto the ship, looking tired and bored. Her eyes glanced over the group casually, and she began talking to one of the crew members. Mystique leaned closer so her words were impossible to miss.

"Just stay close, stay calm," she said, "We'll figure this out. If we get separated, you just head to the shore, or I'll find you. Got it?"

"Yes," Kurt said, still looking at the woman.

Mystique pulled him back, and Kurt glanced back at Amanda. To his surprise, he realized, she wasn't there any more. He swallowed, trying as hard as he could to remember the last glance he'd caught of her.

Some of the crew members began grabbing some of the passengers, roughly moving them near the woman. She smiled at them, shifting from one foot to another. A dazed look stole over their faces, and Kurt glanced at Mystique questioningly.

"I think we know what happened to the ones that disappeared," she muttered, "I think she's a telepath, but they're fairly rare. Whatever she is, she's close enough though."

Kurt glanced back, suddenly realizing that twelve mutants had been herded toward the woman. He swallowed and Mystique ducked her head, her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed in thought. It wasn't a good look.

A sudden commotion made him turn his head. Three crew members were coming back up, herding Amanda and Megan. He cocked his head. Had they tried to go back downstairs? They'd been ordered to the deck with threats for disobedience. Why had they decided to risk it?

The young woman turned and saw them. It looked as though someone had smacked her. Then, an unpleasant, insidious grin spread across her face. Megan moved behind Amanda, and he saw Amanda's hand tighten on Megan's shoulder. Kurt looked to her eyes, trying to figure out what was going on, and took a deep breath.

Amanda was terrified.

"What are the odds?" the woman asked, laughing and walking over to the two, "All these years. You know, I thought I'd never see you again."

Mystique looked at Kurt, but all Kurt could do was shrug. Amanda had never mentioned anything like this. But the woman wasn't looking at Amanda, he realized. No, her attention was focused solely on Megan.

She crouched down, still smiling that smile.

"My, how you've grown little sister," she said.

Megan ducked her head, burying it in Amanda's leg, and Amanda put an arm around her. The woman looked up, and Kurt saw the terror had fled from Amanda's eyes. Defiance and courage radiated as brightly as her hair, and fear continued to grow inside him.

"Do I know you?" the woman asked.

"Probably not," said Amanda, "But leave her alone. She hasn't done anything."

"Yes, more's the pity," the woman said, "But you look familiar for some reason."

The woman got up and peered at her, leaning close. Amanda didn't flinch.

"Oh, I remember you now," the woman said, "When we came for her, you were that little brat that kicked me in the shin, pulled my hair. You've grown up too Jimaine."

Jimaine? Perhaps he hadn't been the only one using a false name. He watched the two, watched the other woman's smile broaden. Amanda's fingers fisted into Megan's coat, the knuckles white.

The woman pulled her arm back, her fist slamming into Amanda's stomach. Amanda bent double and Megan shrieked. There was a murmuring, and Kurt moved forward as Amanda fell to the ground, her spare hand wrapped around herself.

Mystique jerked him away, her eyes giving him a warning.

"I can't just-" he hissed.

"Priorities," Mystique snapped back.

He snarled and then looked back at the two of them. Megan was weeping, her hands on Amanda's face. Amanda was trying to smile, let her know she was okay, but she was in pain. He could tell.

"Don't worry," the woman said, "It's going to be just the three of us from now on Megan. You can leave your babysitter. Regan will be here soon, remember how much fun she is?"

Panic flared in Megan's hand, and Amanda was trying to stand. The woman walked up, lighting a cigarette.

"Party time for everyone, isn't it?" she said, "Put them all on the boat."

A few voices were raised in protest, but the woman raised a hand. Kurt saw the glossy look return to their eyes as bile rose in his throat. A crew member moved forward, picked up Megan as though she were nothing. From his own experience, he knew she weighed about as much as a feather.

"Listen to me," Mystique said, "You can't do anything. We need to get to the landing site. We can't afford to let them know we're here before we're ready."

He looked over at Amanda, still trying to stand, at Megan, being led away. He thought of Moira, of the other X-men, of Kevin. He prayed for God to show him the way, because it felt like he couldn't save them all.

Kurt swallowed, trying to stay still. Moira. She had to come first. This mission had to come first. It was sick, but they could save Megan later. He hated himself for the thought, for not rushing forward, pulling Megan away, taking Amanda into his arms.

The woman reached into her jacket, looking at Megan.

"The thing is, you and your mother never learned that you shouldn't let other people into our family affairs," she said, "So I think you should pay very close attention to this."

She took her hand out of her jacket. It was a gun. She had a gun. Amanda was looking up, surprise crinkling her face, her blue eyes wide. Mystique's hand was still on his shoulder, a tight grip, no doubt trying to restrain him.

He jerked her grip away, and concentrated on the spot next to the woman. Kurt took a deep breath, and slipped into a realm of smoke and darkness.


	14. Chapter 14

Amanda looked at the barrel of the gun, feeling her heart constrict in her chest. She tried to figure out what she should do, where she could run, or how she could block what was about to happen to her.

In the seconds she had, Amanda drew a blank. The pain in her stomach seemed to increase every second, and moving even an inch seemed like an impossible task. Even if she put her hand up, she knew it wouldn't be enough to stop the bullet.

She thought of Megan, and looked over slightly, just so she could meet her eyes. God, she looked so scared. Amanda wanted to cry out to her that she was sorry, sorry for not protecting her better. It looked like, while they had tried to flee those who would spit on Megan or use her to fight for their amusement, they'd run right into the arms of her sisters.

Although her lips were dry, her throat sandpaper, Amanda smiled. She didn't know if it looked convincing at all, but she had to try. She couldn't let Megan's last memory of her be of a terrified face. Was Kodi here? There was no time to find him. He would have to remember that night on the deck, her smiles since then.

There was a soft explosion next to her. Amanda turned, not understanding, as curls of black smoke and the smell of sulphur surrounded her. Something long and thin wrapped around her wrist, and she saw a blue tail encircling her hand like a bracelet.

Blinking several times, she saw a three-fingered hand knock the gun out of Martinique's hand. She saw Martinique turn around, each of her movements unnaturally slow in her mind's eye.

It was then that she realized it was Kodi. How'd he get there? What was with the smoke, with his tail wrapped around her forearm? She wanted to ask what was happening, or at least get a better idea, but there was another explosion.

Her world rattled. She coughed and looked to her side. Kodi was standing there, his eyes wide and concerned, but when the smoke cleared, relief melted onto his face. His tail slithered away from her arm, and she blinked several more times.

"I will get Megan," he said.

Amanda didn't get a chance to respond, to warn him about what Martinique was. He was gone so soon, and she rushed to the rail and looked down. There was a matching cloud dissipating on the deck as crew members looked around, as Martinique knelt to pick up her gun.

Kodi appeared in front of the man holding Megan, a few feet above the ground. He pushed out with his legs as his tail grabbed Megan's arm. The man was pushed back, but Kodi's tail held Megan. He flipped in the air once before his tail flung Megan into his arms.

She gaped, because Kodi had always seemed so peaceful. Besides that, she hadn't known he could disappear and reappear like that. He had never told her, never said that was his mutation. True, she had hidden things from him, but that had been different. Why had he felt the need to hide his mutation?

But she forgot all of that, because Martinique was getting up, cracking her neck. She hadn't gone for the gun, and Amanda knew what that meant.

"Kodi! Behind you!" she screamed.

He turned, but Martinique was smiling, and he fell, clutching his head. Amanda was running for the ladder, but as she slid down the rungs, she could see Megan kick at Martinique's feet. She swept her aside, and Kodi was making a low moaning sound.

Crew members were beginning to converge and, as she reached the bottom of the ladder, Amanda knew it was a lost cause. If she ran to his side, if she took him and Megan in her arms, stood between them and Martinique, she would only die. Megan would be taken anyway, and Kodi would likely be murdered seconds later.

But she didn't have a choice. She wouldn't watch that, so she moved forward anyway, her worn-out sneakers smacking down on the frozen metal. Martinique saw her coming, smiled, lit a cigarette.

Then Martinique's head was slammed down into the rail, and two shots rang out.

* * *

Mystique was furious. She'd tried to pull Kurt away from what she'd known would be a shit show, but he'd moved forward anyway. And, because of that, it was likely he'd ruined their cover, that this would be radioed in.

But the damage had already been done. So she'd moved toward the ladder, moving as discreetly as she could. Her idea had been to move down to the boat before anyone could radio in what had happened. She also had to check if the woman had some sort of radio herself. If they moved quickly, they might be able to pull it off.

At the same time, she'd kept a close eye on the fight. She'd been half-impressed when he saw Kurt's techniques, pulling Amanda away from danger, making it so the woman couldn't respond. But he'd taken her out of the equation after that, which was why he'd ended up in trouble.

And when she saw him writhing on the ground, her mind went to that night in East Germany, watching that winged brute advance on her son. For so long she'd been unable to protect him, having only allowed herself to give him to people she thought would do the job for her.

Now though, he was in pain. Now, he was going to die. She'd known the mission was ruined then, known that her next actions would likely condemn Moira to death, but God knew she couldn't sacrifice her brother's love for her son.

So, silently apologizing to her brother, she moved forward, scooping up the gun from where it had fallen, where the woman hadn't picked it up. All thoughts of the radio went out of her head. Instea,d she slammed the woman's head into the rail, fired the gun at the two advancing crew members.

They dropped and she looked back at the woman. She was wiping away the remains of a smashed cigarette from her face, her eyes narrowing. For a minute she saw someone appear in front of her, fire a bullet.

The pain appeared, but Mystique just snarled. It was weak, not quite the same level as an actual gunshot. She wasn't completely sure what this woman's mutation was, but it was definitely something along the lines of a telepath.

She moved past it, knowing the pain wasn't real, pushing it out of her mind. Emma had insisted on practicing on her back in the Brotherhood, and Erik had let her. It was just another form of training. She had been the one who'd insisted they prepare to fight telepaths, although Mystique had never felt comfortable with that.

The woman seemed surprised, but Mystique just punched her in the head. It would, Emma had told her, disorient her. Any sort of disorientation they could create would be good. That way she wouldn't be able to keep screwing with people's minds.

From behind her, she heard fleeing footsteps. So everyone was running instead of helping. Great. Sometimes it made Mystique wonder, it really did. Was everyone really so happy to be sheep, so afraid that they would flee instead of fight?

But there was the sound of explosions, of gunshots being fired. Kurt had her back, which meant he was up on his feet. She looked at the woman, wondering if she could still solve this, if there was a way out of what was going on.

"I will kill you," Mystique murmured, "And I think you've already figured out your mind tricks aren't exactly effective on me. So, right now, I think it would be a good time to decide where your priorities lie."

The woman narrowed her eyes, looking over to where Kurt and Megan had been. Mystique didn't know if they were still there, but it didn't matter. She jerked the woman around, slamming her head again.

"Don't look at them, look at me," she snapped, "And think very carefully before you answer the next questions. Is there anyone on the island? Any prisoners?"

Someone moved close to her. Mystique turned the gun around in her hand, shot them without turning around. The made a thud when they dropped.

"Prisoners?" the woman said.

She smiled.

"Oh...so you're Xavier's pets then," she said, "Here to pick up his girlfriend?"

Mystique froze. God, had it been that obvious? Were there no other prisoners?

"I don't recognize you, so I think you're the shapeshifter who hangs out with them from time to time," she said, "The hero. Interesting. I hear you might be his sister. That true?"

She hit her with the butt of the gun, trying to go light enough so she wouldn't give her a concussion.

"Tell me, or you're going to be in a world of hurt," said Mystique.

"Mmmhm," the woman said.

Mystique leaned in closer.

"Have you ever been shot before?" she asked, "I don't think you have, or you would've been better at simulating the pain."

She cocked the gun.

"Want me to teach you how to make it more realistic?"

The woman looked at the gun, saw that Mystique was pointing it at her foot. Good. Mystique wanted her to know that she didn't have to kill her to make her feel pain. Judging by her expression, the woman understood that.

"Yes," the woman said, "You've come to the right place."

"Where's Essex?" demanded Mystique.

The woman smiled.

"What time is it?" she asked.

Fear trickled in. That was not the question she'd wanted to be asked. Footsteps came up behind her, but she recognized their tread. Kurt. It was just Kurt. There were other footsteps too, but they were calm. Amanda and Megan, for all the good they were.

"It's five thirty," she said.

"Oh, five thirty, of course," said the woman, still grinning, "So, in that case, he should be landing right about now. He thought you all might be coming soon. Asked to know the minute you did."

Mystique hoisted her up, drawing her close. As she did, a barely audible beeping reached her ears. She jerked the woman's collar to the side, saw the blinking light there. Mystique didn't need Hank there to tell her what it was. She recognized a panic button just as well as anyone.

"You're screwed," the woman said, "You, MacTaggert."

Her grin became more wild.

"That bastard she's carrying."

Mystique felt the gun shake in her grip. Moira was pregnant? Realistically, she knew it wasn't necessarily her brother's. They hadn't been back together for very long, and there was only one night that she was aware of that they'd been intimate. But the odds were against her on that.

Oh God. Charles's child. In Essex's custody. The thought filled her with a kind of nameless fear, one that pierced her heart. She thought of her pregnancy with Kurt, praying for the chance to protect the child, secretly resenting him, but wanting to keep him, because she knew in her heart she would never see his father again.

The woman smashed her head into Mystique's. Mystique stumbled away and the woman threw herself off the side of the boat. Reeling from the pain, Mystique looked over the side. Briefly, she saw someone with a cowboy hat on the deck move forward. Then there was a flicker, and he was gone. Another flicker, and the woman was gone.

"Kurt, get us on that damn island right now," she said, pushing away, "Grab your girlfriend, the pixie, me, but get us the hell over there!"

Inside her heart though, she was already screaming. She had botched the mission by not stopping Kurt. She had botched it again when she had decided to step in and save him, too panicked about his well-being to wonder if the woman had some sort of panic button.

Mystique had sacrificed the mission to protect her child. In doing so, she might have sacrificed her brother's child.


	15. Chapter 15

Essex looked down at his watch, at the blinking red light. He smiled and made a gesture over to Regan, who leaned over obediently. Yes, a crook of the finger and she'd be there. Much more obedient than her sister, and perhaps she was a little smarter. Not by much, but it was something.

"I do believe your sister has found some of the Xaviers," he said.

"She'd be at the boat right now, wouldn't she?" asked Regan.

Yes, definitely a little sharper than Martinique.

"The GPS tracker indicates she is," Essex said, "Perhaps some of his people thought it was a good idea to sneak aboard the ship. A good plan, although a risky one."

"Looks like it didn't pan out," said Regan.

"No," said Essex.

He stepped out of the helicopter, keeping his head down. Regan trailed after him. Yes, he'd caught her at the right age. Her sister, not so much, but Regan served as a good worker, a good person to do the heavy lifting.

And the blood spilling. Yes, there was that for when things got messy. He wasn't a man prone to violence. What he did on the tables and in the labs was purely for science. If he derived enjoyment from his experiments, that meant nothing. It was just the thrill of discovery.

He straightened up as they walked away from the helicopter's whirring blades.

"So, how do you want to handle this?" Regan asked.

"Simple," he said, "We don't have as much time as I would like, but I want you to fetch Emma. Bring her to lab X42 along with MacTaggert."

Regan raised her eyebrows.

"Are you sure it's ready?" she said.

"No," smiled Essex, "But we need to do a test run, and this is the perfect opportunity. It'll be the most secure location, and the chances are Xavier won't be able to find his lady love there. But when Martinique comes, hand it over to her."

"What?" asked Regan, "Why?"

She really could be annoying. While he'd carefully nurtured the rivalry between the two sisters, this particular aspect of it made him want to break her nose. Regan should know better than to question him.

"Because we'll need transport for our other guest," he said, "And she's much more important. Even if all goes well, I want her secured. She's too...precious to let go."

Regan nodded and sauntered off to the building. He watched her go, and then turned around. The rest of Weapon X was getting off the helicopter. He looked them over in derision. If Wraith had been there, then it truly would've been the three stooges.

As it was, it was just Chris and Zero. He heartily disliked them both, Chris for his timidity and Zero for his inability to be creative. But, they were skilled. They might be able to hold off the team that had taken down Nur for a while, might being the key word. If Stryker could've been convinced to part with Victor, then they might actually have a chance, take one or two down with them.

He waited as Martinique flickered in front of him. Essex cocked his head as Martinique wiped away the blood from her face. She looked a mess, with bruises all over her head and a burn on her lips. He thought there was even a cut on one of her hands.

"You look as though you've been thoroughly beaten," he remarked.

Martinique glowered and stormed over to him. Wraith shrugged and walked over to the other two. Martinique crossed her arms, her eyes still venomous. No, maybe he hadn't done such a good job with her as he had with her sister.

"There were two of them," she said.

"Which ones?"

"The blue demon one and the shapeshifter," muttered Martinique.

He perked up, more interested. Both of them were rare, exquisite mutations. Xavier had a habit of collecting the best around him. If only the man had an idea of the specimens he had. Or maybe he did, and that was why he was training them for combat.

"But just the two, correct?" he said.

"Just the two," she said, "But they took my sister."

"Regan's in the compound."

"My other sister," Martinique snapped.

He gave her a level look, and she ducked her head in apology. That was better.

"Come now, you never really liked Megan," he said, "And she's only your half sister, isn't she?"

"She's supposed to be ours," said Martinique.

"She'd be, what, eight?" asked Essex, "I can say from experience that children are very troublesome at that age. I can barely deal with them, and you know how patient I can be. Would you really raise her?"

"We could've if her stupid mother hadn't interfered," Martinique said, "And that blonde brat who kicked me was there."

Essex laughed.

"You do know how to hold a grudge don't you?" he asked.

Martinique gave him a side look, and he smiled benignly.

"Listen to me," he said, "Xavier's team is coming. No getting around that. We have to deal with that first. But, afterwards, I will personally help you find your baby sister. Who knows? She might be worth something."

She shoved her hands in her pockets and Essex smiled. He gestured to her and they walked together.

"I need you to go to lab X42," he said, "I've instructed your sister to fetch Emma and MacTaggert for you. I'll give you the signal for the rest. I believe you'll know just which buttons to push for Emma to be...persuaded to do what you say. And if things go south, we'll have MacTaggert as a bargaining chip."

"Maybe not," said Martinique.

He stopped walking and turned to her, narrowing his eyes.

"Why not?" he demanded.

"Because I think you'll want to keep her," said Martinique, "I had my suspicions, so I ran a blood test with a sample collected from the floor after one of our sessions."

Essex's eyes widened, and he knew that his jaw dropped slightly. Giddiness flared up in him. There were so few reasons to do a blood test in this environment with Martinique's deficit of knowledge that he felt lightheaded with the possibility.

"Now, the test could be wrong," she said, "But I think MacTaggert's pregnant."

"My God," said Essex, smiling, "How far along?"

"Hard to tell, but not very far," said Martinique, "Probably conceived a week or two before we got a hold of her."

"And she wasn't at the CIA then," said Essex, "And her son wasn't in school, and she wasn't...so...oh, this is too much."

He ran a hand through his hair. It was trembling. Telepaths were always the ones to watch out for, how they could creep into a mind. He'd seen their work firsthand, but they were a rare breed indeed. It was much more common to see some sort of offshoot of telepathic abilities, like Regan and Martinique, like Kayla. But a true telepath, one that could speak in your mind and twist your thoughts? Very rare.

He'd nearly salivated when he'd heard Stryker had found two sisters, the older with an offshoot and the younger with the pure, telepathic ability. He'd bartered and wheedled, convinced Stryker to keep Kayla instead of Emma. While Emma wasn't as strong as he would've liked, she was still developing, and he knew she could really shine one day.

But Xavier? He knew enough about the man to know how powerful he was. Emma was nothing, nothing compared to him. What would his child be like? While Essex didn't prescribe to Lamorack's theory of evolution, those with stronger parents tended to be very strong themselves. He'd followed genes through the generations, tracing their roots. He knew what could build up, what the X-gene could truly unlock if given time.

It was why he'd been saddened to hear that, while Magneto had had a daughter, she'd been killed by ignorant police. She could've been a goddess, truly capable of molding the world. And they had shot her because their tiny minds couldn't comprehend how amazing she was.

To have Xavier's child though, that would more than make up for it. In his count, Xavier could very well be the most powerful mutant in the world. Yes, people would rage about Magneto, but he'd felt Xavier's touch in his mind from across the world. Magneto caused earthquakes, but Xavier could, if he wanted to, kill with a look.

And to have this child from birth? Yes, he detested children, but this would be different. This would almost put the girl he'd jokingly called his daughter to shame. He would have the perfect mutant, and perfection was so very rare.

"I need you to go to X42 and get MacTaggert off the island," he said, "Take her to...oh, take her to the Canadian location. It's been cleaned up, and it was our most secure. She's going to need to be very well cared for for the next year or so."

"A year?" asked Martinique, "She's only got about eight more months on her."

"Yes, but the child may need transfusions, and, quite frankly, it's probably healthier for the baby to be with her for the next few months," he said, "After that we can, I don't know, kill her, ship her back to Xavier, toss her to Stryker, use your imagination. It doesn't really matter."

He grinned.

"But, for now, she might be the most important person in the world," he said.

* * *

The wind whipped at Kurt's face, lashing him with spray. Megan had already retreated into her coat, her tears still staining her face. Amanda was trying to wipe them away, trying to pretend she hadn't almost taken a shot to head earlier.

Next to him Mystique was loading a gun she'd picked up from one of the crew members. It made him uncomfortable at how fast she'd been able to do it, that she was carrying it at all. She'd also disappeared while Kurt was grabbing Megan and Amanda, coming back out with an industrial flashlight. He realized that, like on the boat, stepping up had consequences.

Because Mystique wasn't just angry. She was frightened, nervous, jittery. Something had happened, and Mystique was talking as though the whole mission was in jeopardy. He'd known that was a possibility, but Mystique looked a few steps from hysterics.

He looked down and finished tuning the radio. Mystique told him the rest of the team would be driving toward them now, but had refused to radio in yet. He didn't know why that was, but it worried him. What did she know that she didn't want them to know?

"Kodi?"

He turned. Amanda was there, and Megan was sitting a little ways away. He looked down at the radio and, hesitating, Amanda moved a little closer.

"I know you must be really confused," she said, "But...Megan and I..."

"She's not even your cousin, is she?" Mystique said abruptly.

Kurt winced, but Amanda just nodded slowly.

"Not biologically," she said, "I just...her mother died when she was young, and we weren't going to throw her out. My family had just died and, well, we needed each other."

"She had sisters," said Mystique.

A shadow of annoyance passed over Amanda's face, but she just took a deep breath.

"Yes, assassin sisters who wanted to train her," she said, "I was thirteen when they came. They hit her twice where I could see."

"You kicked one," said Megan, "Pulled her hair."

"I was actually trying to scratch her face off," Amanda chuckled.

She looked over at Kurt, suddenly nervous.

"I'm sorry I had to lie, well, not lie so much as not say anything," she said, "Although, to keep up the cousin charade I had to change my name. People ask less about names like Amanda and Megan for cousins. We don't look enough alike to be sisters and...well, like I said, Amanda made more sense than Jimaine."

Kurt looked at her, saw the sadness in her eyes. She'd done nothing wrong, only tried to protect the child she loved and had grown up with. There wasn't much time, and he wasn't sure how to explain adequately.

So he settled for the short version.

"My name's Kurt," he settled on.

A sparkle appeared in Amanda's eyes.

"Enough," Mystique said, "Catch."

Amanda turned in time to catch an industrial flashlight. She looked at it blankly.

"Now, you're going to get radioed in for a landing party," said Mystique, "Since you derailed everything, the least you can do is make sure they get here safe. Flash it four times, then three, then four. If they question you over the radio, tell them you were told Scott blew up a tree at the school. Understood?"

Amanda nodded, looking confused.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"To save a friend," replied Kurt.

"Yes, and we need to get going," Mystique said, "We'll come back for you, we can't help it at this point, but just stay here until then."

Amanda sighed.

"One minute," she said.

She turned her back on Mystique and looked at Kurt. There was that same sparkle, but something else too. Amanda bit her lip once before moving forward and kissing him. Fireworks went off in his mind, a mind that had never felt a kiss before, as her lips moved against his confused, clumsy ones.

Her tongue caressed the inside of his lips, lightly skimming his fangs. It was bold, uncaring that she might cut herself on her teeth. She kissed him without any reservation, or care, and it made him think of that night on the deck.

Amanda pulled away, smiling as though she was the one who had just had something beautiful happen to her.

"Be safe, okay?" she asked.

He nodded mutely, staring at her. Mystique moved forward, grabbed his arm.

"Lover boy, let's go," she said.

He nodded, giving Amanda one last look. She raised her hand in a slight wave before smoke surrounded him and Mystique.


	16. Chapter 16

Charles's throat was thick as the boat made its way to shore. It was inky dark out, the kind impossible in cities. He'd seldom even seen it in the confines of Westchester where a light was never too far from hand.

Instead, only the moon and stars were there. That and the steady blink of the flashlight on shore. Hank had radioed in only a moment or two before and the coordinates, as well as the blinking light, had appeared. The voice indistinguishable on the other end, and Hank said the signal must be poor.

A foot away from him Peter retched over the side. It appeared that the sea didn't agree with him, although he wondered just how it was the sea that made him ill when he regularly moved faster than the speed of light.

"Everyone, get ready," Charles said.

The teens nodded, bundling in their jackets over their uniforms. They'd brought extras for when the discarded the ones they were wearing. The hope was they would stash them and grab them on the way back. Moira might not have a jacket suitable for the weather, and Hank was so worried he'd actually packed a backpack with a thermal blanket in it.

As the boat drew nearer, Charles thought he caught a flash of blonde hair. He frowned. It was his sister's favorite hair color when she was in disguise, true enough, but it was longer than she usually wore it. Longer and brighter.

He put two of his fingers to his head.

 _Hello?_ he said.

 _Jesus Christ!_

Charles started, but immediately narrowed his eyes. The thoughts sounded young, but he'd learned the hard way that wasn't the same as non-threatening.

 _Who are you?_

 _What are you doing? How can you-?_

 _I'm a telepath,_ Charles said.

He felt an irrational surge of impatience. He didn't have time for this. Not now. Her confusion, however, was enough to make him pause.

 _A mutant who can read minds, and right now I'm reading yours. I would ask that you tell me who you are, because you're not my sister._

 _Um, Scott blew up a tree at the school?_

Charles relaxed slightly.

 _Alright, so you are connected,_ he said, _But who are you?_

 _Jimaine. I mean, Amanda, I mean...I mean...this is really uncomfortable._

He sighed. Hank looked over at him, a question on his face.

"It's not Mystique waving us in, but I think it's a friend," he said.

Hank looked doubtful, but Charles cast his eyes back to the shore. Now that he concentrated, he could just make out two figures, one very much smaller than the other. He raised an eyebrow.

 _You'd best tell me everything,_ he said, _I know this isn't the most pleasant experience, and, no doubt, it feels like an itch in your hypothalamus that you can't scratch._

 _Um, yes. Yes it does._

 _It's a common feeling,_ said Charles, _But I need to find out why it's you here instead of my sister and Kurt. Can I look through your memories? Just for a moment or two?_

He could feel Amanda hesitate. For a second, she looked down at the smaller figure. Was it a child? Her daughter, sister?

 _Alright,_ she said, _Just, no offense, this just feels really weird._

 _I understand,_ Charles said.

He carefully sifted through her memories of the past 24 hours, the ship. He saw Kurt intervening, saw his sister arguing with the woman. He couldn't hear what they were saying, Amanda was too far away, but he saw how much more urgent Raven became afterward.

"Can I dock?"

He looked over at Hank, surprised. His oldest student was looking at him expectantly, and he realized the rest of the X-men were paying close attention. Yes, of course. His words hadn't exactly been reassuring.

"Yes," Charles said.

He glanced back at the shore.

 _We will not harm you. You will be safe._

Charles retreated from her mind before she could answer. Amanda had made it plain that the experience of having a telepath in her head was a new and unpleasant one. It did, he admitted to himself, take some getting used to. Moira was the only one who had faced the experience head on, and even then he'd felt her squirm in his mind.

Moira. He swallowed as the boat bumped against the sandy bottom near the shore.

"Everyone, they know we're coming," Charles said.

"I thought you said she was okay!" hissed Storm.

"And she is," Charles said, "But something happened on the boat, and Nightcrawler and Mystique's cover was blown. They've gone ahead, no doubt to try and make up for lost time. I'll try to get in contact with her soon but this does call for a change of plans."

"An extensive one," said Hank.

Amanda moved forward, the little girl staying where she was. The other X-men eyed her warily, but it soon became clear she was trying to help pull the boat up onto the shore. If they'd had more than one person it might have worked, or someone jumping out to assist.

As it was, Jean merely waved her hand, and they were securely moored. Amanda took a step back, looking nervous, but not apprehensive.

"We've lost the element of surprise," Scott said, "We're gonna have to try something different now."

"Not entirely," said Hank, "I mean, they know we're coming. But they don't know how or when."

"That's not great man," said Peter, pushing himself and looking green.

"No," said Charles.

He eyed Peter thoughtfully. Peter held up his hands.

"Hey, look, I'd be glad to run down there, beat 'em up, take their wallets, that kind of thing," said Peter, "In fact, I really want to. It'd be great. But this guy has some sort of mad teleporter dude there, and I'd like some back up."

"Quicksilver, calm down," Charles said.

He gave him a small smile.

"I'm not sending you in alone, and I'm not sending you in first."

Peter frowned and Charles looked over at Storm. It was, perhaps, too much to ask of her. While she had summoned up a hurricane of extraordinary power under Nur's tutelage, she had been restricted to smaller stunts recently.

However, lightning wasn't what he wanted.

"Storm, I have an idea," he said.

Moira didn't recognize the woman tugging and pulling her down the hall. She'd already learned not to irritate her though, as she'd already hit her twice. Whoever she was, she made Martinique look patient.

Struggling wouldn't do much good anyway. Not until she could find a way to get a weapon and escape. Opportunities had been slim, but maybe that meant she would just have to look closer for a way to get away. A plan was already forming in her mind. She'd get out, get Emma if she could, and they would run. If not, she would get out and tell the X-men where to find Emma later.

The brush with Charles's mind seemed like a dream. Moira wasn't even sure that it had actually happened. However, she knew she couldn't wait, not with the little life growing inside of her. She might be able to endure harsh conditions, but the baby wouldn't.

Escape would still be a difficult maneuver, considering that her hands were bound by zip ties. They were uncomfortable, but her hands had been tied in front of her. The woman was in a hurry, and that could be taken advantage of. Moira might not present a formidable opponent in her weakened state, but put a gun in her hands and she knew she would still be able to shoot.

The woman shoved open the door to what looked like an amphitheater. She narrowed her eyes. The lighting was, at best, murky, but the design was familiar. There was something in the middle of the room which she couldn't quite make out.

It moved, and Moira started. The woman laughed and gestured to a chair.

"Sit, or I'll toss you," the woman ordered.

Moira did so, trying to look small and helpless. The other woman didn't know her. She might be easier to fool than Martinique.

"You can put up the fence now," the woman said.

There was a grating noise, and the room filled with the hum of electricity. Light skittered across the walls, and Moira blinked at its harshness. The woman laughed and crossed her arms.

"Your boyfriend won't be finding you in here," she said.

Moira's heart leapt. She'd long figured out that something was keeping Charles out, or he would've found her already. However, the knowledge that they'd moved her somewhere new with the express purpose of hiding her was interesting to say the least.

Did that mean they were close? Moira prayed they were. That made escape a little easier. Her heart beat a little faster at the idea of fresh air, of seeing her son, of Charles's hands over hers, of telling him of the life inside her.

The woman moved slightly, and Moira saw what was in the middle of the room. Emma was sitting there, looking around with wide eyes. Her hands were strapped to the chair, as were her feet. Her filthy hair was hanging around her, only just obscuring the collar.

Something hung over her, a dark mass of metal arms.

"Oh, you know her?" the woman asked, "Did my sister introduce you two?"

Moira didn't say anything. Martinique had a sister? The woman shrugged.

"No matter," she said, "Emma knows me, don't you?"

She saw Emma's eyes glower for a second before panic washed over them. How long had the young girl been there? How many years had passed, alone and being tortured?

"Now, Emma," the woman said, "I'm going to take off the collar in a moment, and then you're going to do exactly as I say."

Emma looked over at Moira, her eyes a warning that Moira couldn't quite read.

"Emma?" the woman snapped.

"Yes Miss Regan," Emma said, her voice toneless.

Regan snapped her fingers and two guards appeared. She pointed at Moira.

"Watch her," she said, "If she so much as breathes wrong, I want you to shoot her."

"No you won't."

There was a crackle as Martinique walked in, pulling at her sleeves. Her face was a mess, and she looked pissed. Regan made a face, but Moira's mind went to the X-men. They were close.

"Trouble sister?" she asked.

"Go jump off a cliff," Martinique said pleasantly, "Essex wants you upstairs as soon as possible. And you two, do not shoot her. If you must, shoot her in the foot, but only if you can guarantee she doesn't fall."

Martinique grinned nastily.

"Essex wants the baby nice and healthy," she said.

Moira felt her insides turn to lead. They knew.

"Wait, seriously?" asked Regan, "That guy's in a wheelchair. I do not want to picture that."

"I don't want to picture your face, it'd frighten even this place's rats away, but, unlike you, I don't have the option," Moira snapped.

Regan whipped around, narrowing her eyes. But the lead was slowly turning molten. No. She'd already decided they weren't going to make her lose the baby. It was hers, hers and Charles's.

And they were never going to lay a finger on them.

"Don't," Martinique said, "He really wants the baby."

Her sister snarled irritably and waved her hand.

"Fine, take the little trollop, do whatever," she said, "I've got more important things to do."

The dull sound of distant gunfire filled the air. It was quick, but not quite quick enough to be machine gun fire.

"Go do them," snapped Martinique.

Regan made a face and then walked over to Emma.

"No funny business," she said, "I know. Remember?"

"Yes Miss Regan," Emma said.

With a smile, Regan gave a thumbs up to someone Moira couldn't see. The room continued to thrum and Martinique rubbed the back of her neck.

"Sorry about the noise," she said pleasantly, "But we haven't quite figured out how to make it run quietly."

Moira pinched her eyebrows together, trying to figure out just what she was seeing. Regan reached up and pulled one of the arms down, a helmet on the end. Worry prickled the outside of her molten mind, and, as Regan buckled the helmet under Emma's chin, she realized what was happening.

"Oh, if you think that's impressive," said Martinique, "Just wait until it powers up."


	17. Chapter 17

Mystique peered over the top of the wall. She could see the people milling about on the helipad. The man with the cowboy hat was in plain sight, but everyone else looked like they were there for window dressing. Window dressing with guns.

She slunk back down to where Kurt was crouched. Mystique ran a hand through her hair.

"So," she said, "No chance you suddenly figured out how to teleport where you can't see?"

He shook his head. She let out a deep breath.

"Okay, okay," she said.

She did another quick scan, focusing on the area above the helipad. There were a few shadows there, maybe three or four. They knew they were coming, but they either didn't have the manpower to ramp up security, or they didn't care. Mystique didn't think it was the latter, but it seemed too big of an oversight to be the former.

Either way, it was best to play it cautious. She looked at the tower closest to the main building, with the least shadows.

"Alright," she said, "We need to go in there, sneak around. We need to be careful, and we need to be quiet. No more heroics."

Kurt sighed.

"Mystique, zey vere going to kill her," he said.

"Yes, and I have no idea what they're going to do to Moira now," she said, "Judging by the fact that there's not a heavy guard out, there's a good chance they're using her as a bargaining chip. That tactic never goes well for the chip in question."

"Vhat should I haf done instead?" he asked.

His tone was sullen, childish. She resisted the urge to touch his cheek, to beg him to understand the kind of risks he was taking.

"I don't know," she said instead.

He looked up at her, surprised. One of her hands went to his shoulder.

"Kurt, you're not always going to get the chance to do the right thing," she said, "And yes, you saved Amanda. You saved Megan. But there are ripples further down the line, ones you can't always see. This is the ripple now."

His shoulder felt broad, solid underneath her hand. She increased the strength of her grip.

"One day you'll be in a situation where you're forced to figure out which ripples you can live with, and which you can't," she said, "Just understand that things don't always have a happy ending. Tonight might not even have a happy ending."

"But it vill," Kurt said, his voice earnest, "Because ve are here now. Und ve will save her."

Mystique gave his shoulder another squeeze, trying to keep the tears in. Had she ever actually believed something that strongly? God, it hurt so much to be around Kurt sometimes.

She forced a smile on her face, trying to pretend Kurt hadn't just thrown the lesson she was trying to teach out the window. She was in no mood to argue. Mystique peered over the wall again and saw that the shadows had disappeared at the top of the tower.

"Nightcrawler, get me over there," she said.

He grabbed her shoulder, and she fell into smoke. Even after all the years spent with Azazel wrapping her in his arms, taking her from place to place, it still made her stomach flip every time she did it.

Her eyes were open when they reappeared, both of them crouching low to the ground. She stifled a cough and put an arm around Kurt's shoulders.

"Come on," she murmured, "We need to get moving."

Kurt nodded and they moved along the floors. Every time they heard a noise Mystique squeezed Kurt's shoulder, signalling him to stop. It made for slow progress but, even in her haste, she knew they couldn't afford to be caught.

Her son's skin was made to blend into the shadows though. Whenever a flicker of a flashlight moved near them, she thought she could see his eyes glow slightly. Bio-luminescence? Unexpected in red eyes.

She forced herself to pay more attention to where they were going instead of details she'd decided not to notice about Kurt. Mystique wondered if Moira even knew she was pregnant. It was possible that, in this environment, they wouldn't have told her.

However, Moira was a smart woman. She might not be very far along, but she might have noticed changes, had her suspicions. Moira was careful enough not to take any chances or, at least, she hoped so. She would be taking extra care.

From her own vague memories of the miserable time that had been her own pregnancy, Mystique could remember that this period was fraught with danger for expecting mothers. The body wasn't fragile, not by any means, but some women wouldn't even make an announcement until two months, or when the baby started kicking. It could set up for disappointment otherwise.

Mystique herself had denied that she was pregnant for the first three months, pretending her lack of a period was just stress. The attack on what had remained of the Brotherhood had left her alone, waiting for someone who was never going to come back.

They slipped into a room as a guard moved past them. She pressed herself up against the wall. How long had she waited for Azazel at their safe location? He'd always said she should wait a week if they were separated, no more, no less. But she had waited two before she'd packed up and gone looking.

Three weeks later she'd realized why her body was changing the way it was, that there was a life inside her. She'd become frantic then, and her panic had led to a series of unfortunate decisions that, admittedly, had probably culminated in D.C. She should have gone to Charles, but she'd always been so close and moving across Europe was difficult even with her skill set.

The guard moved past them and Mystique saw the stairs. They needed to get down to the bottom level, and then try to figure out where Moira was from there. She was good at looking through computers, which was what she knew they would have to rely on now. If it had been as easy as having Charles find her, Moira would be at Westchester, discovering the news of her pregnancy with the safety of a home test and wrapped in Charles's love.

Together, they reached the bottom of the stairs. The teleporter wasn't paying attention to them. They were half-cloaked in shadows, but that assurance was still more than welcome.

She eyed one of the entrances, the keypad in front of one of them. It had swipe card access. Brilliant.

"Stay here," she told Kurt.

He nodded and she slunk back up the stairs. Just as she'd suspected, the guard from earlier was on their way. She stuck to the shadows, pressing herself up tightly against the wall, waiting.

When he moved close enough, she put all of her weight into a punch to his throat. He choked, but he did so fairly silently. Mystique quickly side stepped him and smashed his head into the wall.

Once he was unconscious she dragged him into one of the side rooms and began searching him. His key card was easy enough to find. He might not have the access to get to where Moira was being kept, but, in the very least, it was enough to get them in.

She slunk back down to the door, swiping the access panel quickly. The door opened, and she gestured to Kurt. Mystique slipped in just as smoke filled the small hallway. Kurt gave her a grin as the door closed.

"We're in!" he whispered excitedly.

She grinned, but Mystique had never been too concerned about getting in. That wasn't a cake walk, but it was fairly simple and straightforward. What she was worried about was transporting a woman who had possibly been tortured and was, hopefully, still pregnant.

Together they moved silently down the halls. It was dark, but it didn't appear to be unused. There were signs of life everywhere, of some halls that had been swept and others that had been mopped. This wasn't likely to be where they were keeping the prisoners.

It also wasn't likely to be this undermanned. Her heart sank.

"Nightcrawler?" she murmured.

"Ja?"

"We're about to get slammed," she said, "Guns probably, but some might have tasers or knives."

"Vhat?" he said, alarmed.

"Believe it or not, we're being set up," Mystique said, "Not quite sure why, but I know we are."

He gave her a disbelieving look, but she forced herself to be calm. If she listened closely, she thought she could hear footsteps, but muffled. They were taking precautions to be quiet. If this was any other mission she'd start running. Even with her own personal loss, she might have left Moira and told Kurt to retreat. She might have waited for back-up. You had to be tactical in these situations.

But two things were wrong with that. First, of course, was the baby. Whatever happened to her, Moira didn't deserve to be in this hellish place trying to protect a child she wouldn't be able to hold onto. If, of course, they wanted to let her keep the baby, and if she didn't lose it.

And she couldn't bare to think of the way Kurt would look at her if she did. So, she decided to do the next best thing.

"When it happens, I need you to teleport as far as you can and keep teleporting until you find her," she said, "After that your number one priority is getting out."

"But vhat about-?"

"I told you," she said, "This is about her, okay? I need you to get her out."

His eyes widened, the same color as his father's skin. She could tell he wanted to protest, but the gunshot that shattered the air didn't wait. She rolled down and returned fire at the people who were suddenly flooding the hall.

"Go!" she yelled.

Her son looked at her, and she was reminded of a time, so many years ago, when her lover had told her to go. And, although a part of her had hated him for it, she told the same lie that Azazel had told her.

"Look, we'll meet up!" she said, "I can take care of this!"

Kurt looked at her for a moment longer, then disappeared. She smiled, getting off two more shots. It barely put a dent in it. There were so many coming, too well-equipped, even for her skills.

And yet, there was relief. She'd kept Kurt safe, even if it had been with a lie. He would find Moira and bring her back. Charles would start building the family he'd always wanted. It would have a stepson and a birth child, but she had the feeling he'd be fine with that.

Panic rushed back, however, when she saw Kurt reappear behind two of the guards. They fired and Mystique moved forward, trying to shoot as many of them as she could. The gun clicked empty.

Kurt's tail whipped out, slashing at the legs of some of the guards. They went down. Someone shot at him, and he disappeared before reappearing. He was moving so fast, much faster than she'd thought he could have been capable of.

He reminded her of his father. Their son. So perfect.

And they were all pointing guns at him.

She scooped up one of the fallen soldier's guns, and began shooting away. She aimed for the heads, hearts if they might have had any. When that gun ran out, she slammed the gun into one of their heads. The resulting concussion bled.

All around the hall, Kurt was continuing his quickfire teleportations. A guard would disappear, only to reappear, dropped from the ceiling. She was sure at least some of the bullets were grazing him, but when he finally stopped for a minute, so many of the guards were laying in confused, painful heaps on the floor.

Kurt looked sick, but his quick teleportations had disoriented the guards. She shot the one nearest to Kurt, pushing her son down as the remaining four tried to rally. It would be no use.

Her gun clicked empty again, but she didn't need it at the moment. She lashed out, going for their eyes, their throats, any sensitive parts. They crumpled, one by one. Mystique was exhausted when she slammed the heel of her hand into the last one's nose, leaving it broken and bloody, but the satisfaction made up for it.

She looked up and saw Kurt leaning against one of the walls. He was panting, as was she, but she breathed through her nose, working to master it.

"You know," she said, trying to sound as kind as possible, "Leaving me really would've been smarter."

"Ja," Kurt said, "But I do not vant zat ripple."

Tears tried to force their way up but, like her erratic breathing, she fought to calm them. Instead, she patted his shoulder.

"Good work," she said, "Now, let's go find Moira. Together."

His grin was a thing of beauty.


	18. Chapter 18

Zero walked down from one of the towers, followed closely by Chris. John looked over at the two of them, adjusting his cowboy hat. Zero was looking grimly pleased, and Chris was just looking grim.

Like John, Chris had begun wondering what the hell he was doing there. He'd probably been wondering it long before Vic had ripped into Kayla, before Logan had been carted away. Yes, they had never been close, and what he had Kayla had been doing was foolish, but they'd both been teammates.

Chris had always been the softest of them. Or maybe, in his own way, he'd been the wisest, the sharpest. He knew that they were damned, and that's why he kept plodding on. No point in trying to change course now.

"I heard some of our guys encountered mutants in the lower levels," Zero said, "One that zaps himself and another one who likes to fight."

"No special mutation?" asked John.

"Not that they can see," said Zero, "But apparently she's a pretty good fighter, and she's definitely going for the CIA woman you picked up."

John tilted his head but, inside, his head was churning. He'd teleported struggling captives before, watched as their disorientation slowly made them lose consciousness. He'd never experienced that and had something else struggling to get in his mind. He'd felt another presence, felt them pressing their mind into his.

It had been painful, and terrifying. Not even when Kayla had practiced on him had he felt that same sense of invasion. He'd been glad when he'd lost the mind, but it had made him uneasy. It was so determined, so angry.

Truth be told, it reminded him a bit like the look Logan had in his eye when he pointed the gun at Kayla. The only thing was it was more subtle. Logan could rip you apart. Whatever the mind that had touched his was, it could, he realized, cause much more insidious ways of suffering.

"But there were only two, and the boss is predicting higher numbers," Zero said, "Much higher."

"Right," said John, "Want me to scout?"

"If you could," Zero said, picking up one of his guns and fiddling with the ammunition chamber.

John pulled his hat down further, and something wet and cold fell on his nose. He frowned and touched the top of his hat. When his fingers came away, so did tiny, delicate flakes of ice, melting under the warmth from his fingers.

"Was snow predicted for tonight?" he asked.

Chris narrowed his eyes thoughtfully and looked at they sky. It was dark, so John didn't know exactly what it was he was looking for. Clouds? Again, it would be impossible to see in the dark night.

"No," he said.

Despite his better instincts, John looked up too. Large white flakes were beginning to fall, thicker and faster. John suddenly realized just how cold it was, and he shivered underneath his tactical coat.

Then the wind picked up, cutting through the fabric. The cold pierced his bones. He blinked. How the hell had they gone from a peaceful, albeit cold, night to what was shaping up to be a blizzard?

No, he knew the answer to that one.

"Think they've got a snow mutant?" he asked.

The wind picked up by him.

"Actually, we've got like a weather mutant, but, ya know, kudos for getting close! By the way, asshole, you didn't introduce yourself in the woods."

Something grabbed the back of his neck, and he found himself buried deep in a snow drift. Punches rained down on him as he tried to orient himself enough to teleport away. Gunshots flickered in and out of the distance. More were coming.

"What, nothing to say?"

More punches. God, who was this?

"You should've left her alone! She's got a son you know! He's like, eight!"

He opened his eyes, trying to find the source of the attack, but he couldn't see anything. He caught a flash of silver, but that might have just been the snow. Then the punches came back, and he tried to focus on a spot, somewhere far away.

A bright red beam cut through the darkness. He saw two guards pushed away by it, but it offered some temporary illumination. John teleported away to where he had last seen Chris. Where was he?

Something hit him hard in the chest. He looked up and saw the silhouette of a man, or was it a man? It seemed blue and furry, but that might just be the light. It was so difficult to see anything in the snow, but it seemed to be falling around the man, not on him.

He teleported behind the man, punching him, teleporting all around. Each time he made contact he realized that, yes, the man was blue and furry. He'd never seen this particular mutant before, but he'd been with Logan and Vic enough to know that he didn't know everything about his kind.

The man growled, lashing out at him, but John managed to duck. He kicked low, sending the man falling down in a heap in the snow. He was struggling to get up: even if the snow wasn't falling on him, it was certainly still deep around his feet and knees.

John pulled a knife and moved in, but the wind increased, and he felt himself flung away, into the cold snow.

"Dude, leaving before the party's over is lame. I've still got more shit I wanna tell you!"

He looked up and, for the first time, saw a young man with a cocky grin, goggles, silver hair.

"Because man, I am pissed at you," the man said.

* * *

Emma took a deep breath, trying not to panic. She didn't know why they were strapping her in like this, what the helmet was for. It wasn't torture, at least she felt it wasn't. They wouldn't need this many people for that, or would they?

The thrum of the energy began to increase. Emma took a shuddering breath, feeling panic and hysteria build. Regan moved closer to her and removed the collar, smiling thinly.

"Now then little princess," she said, "I want you to find the mutants attacking our operatives on this base. I think you know which ones are ours or enough anyway. Find them and concentrate on them. As hard as you can."

She moved a gun to where it was a few inches away from Emma's face.

"And I feel you in my mind, I blow your head off," said Regan.

Emma closed her eyes, trying to remember what to do, what she should say to give her a little more time. But all she could think about was the way the light glittered in her mother's hair when she'd seen her for the last time, tucking her in and asking Kayla to take care of her while she was away. She remembered her sister, her beautiful, fearless sister, telling her to be strong.

She jerked forward as what felt like ice water laced with electricity poured through her brain. It was like, suddenly, she could feel so much of the world. Not all of it, but so many minds. There was nothing but a slight glow from each of them in a sea of gray, and all she could see was the multitude of opportunities laid out before her.

It was both glorious and disquieting and strange and beautiful all wrapped into one. From far away, she felt tears running down her eyes.

"Hurry up!"

The voice was sharp and in focus. She jerked forward and her mind flew. In the smoky shadows she saw teenagers, two grown men, fighting what she thought were generic guards. Down in the lower levels, she saw two of them moving on, having just vanquished guards.

She didn't want to hurt them. That's what the machine was for, hurting people. Emma swallowed, thinking of the gun, of the fact that, even though she didn't have much of a life, it was still hers. She still wanted to live.

So she concentrated. It was difficult with so many, and in two different places, but she concentrated. Emma concentrated as hard as she could on them, pressing on, her mother and sister still in her mind.

They wouldn't have stood for this, wouldn't have seen her hurt. But they were far away, and they couldn't help her. Moira was here, and she would help if she could, but she would be hard-pressed to save herself. Her and her child. Emma doubted that even the man who had whispered in her mind could help her.

And so she concentrated more. Emma distantly heard their screams as she applied pressure to their minds, putting more and more on. Then, their pain doubled back, and she felt it creeping through own her head.

And she joined them in their screams.

* * *

Moira stared as Emma began screaming, thrashing back and forth in her chair. She started slightly, but Martinique wagged her finger.

"Don't worry about her," she said, "It's safe. Mostly. I think."

She shrugged.

"It's not done, and the range isn't quite complete. I also believe that some rather hefty advancements have been made on the original model," she said, "I don't blame them for updating, it was using a computer engine from the 60s, and that's what we had to use. It's quite slow. How could any of you get anything done then?"

Martinique chuckled.

"But you must admit, it's damn fine work," she said, "And do you know that all we had to go off of was a requisition list from when McCoy built the first Cerebro?"

Martinique smiled and gestured around the room. It all reminded her of that day where she, Charles, Erik and Hank had walked out of the main building and into a white room. Charles had been like a schoolboy afterwards, his head full of the mutants he'd found, of the joy and opportunity. It had been innocent and beautiful.

This was not beautiful. Emma was in pain, and she knew that wasn't supposed to happen. She'd seen Charles use Cerebro, seen the first rush in the past, even seen an ancient mutant take control of him while he wore the helmet. But he'd never screamed like this, like his mind was being torn in two.

"You're killing her!" Moira said.

"No, no, we're not doing that," Martinique said, "She's a valuable asset, like the little thing growing inside you. No. We're killing those brats your boy toy hangs around with."

Instinctively, Moira looked to the door. They were here. The X-men. After a month, they were here. And they were in pain. They were young, training, and they had come to save her. Charles must be there too, and they were all suffering.

The molten feeling inside her got hotter. She had to stop this, had to give them a chance. Martinique was still going on, but Moira could see the gun at her side. She needed her to come closer though.

Martinique was vain. She could use that.

"It surprised me that, with all of the work he did on mutants, he never thought of weaponizing Cerebro," Martinique said, "All that power, all that potential. He could just reach out and kill anyone he wanted, anywhere in the world. And he never bothered."

"You really like the sound of your own voice," Moira said, "But, trust me, no one else does."

Martinique rolled her eyes and, just like Moira wanted, came closer. Maybe to smack her, she wasn't sure. But when she got within range Moira lashed out with her legs, kicking them out from under Martinique. No one had thought to restrain her legs, probably due to the bitter hand-off that had occurred between the two sisters.

She heard Martinique curse, but she was already going for her gun. Moira felt her hands clasp around the cool metal, and she began to draw it. Martinique's hands came down on her wrist like a vice.

Her bones seemed to creak under pressure, but she didn't let go. Instead, she pulled the trigger.


	19. Chapter 19

At first, it had just been a slight, uncomfortable tickle in the back of his head. It was uncomfortable to be sure, but Scott had just thought it was the cold. Storm was still throwing her all into the blizzard, giving them cover and an advantage. Hopefully she'd be able to keep it up for when they grabbed Moira and left.

Then something shifted, and the pain changed, becoming incredible. Scott sank down into the snow, feeling it seep into him. The cold was a distant, secondary thought. Little metal knives were stirring up his brain, and he couldn't think.

The snow stopped, leaving only a heavy, cold fog. Was that Hank a few feet away, falling down and clutching his head? He didn't know, couldn't make him out. Were their enemies getting up?

Jean sank down next to him, and he got the dim thought that he should do something, say something. He knew he was face down in the snow, but she was still on her knees, trying to fight. She was vaguely reaching toward him, and he knew he should be strong. Scott should reach for her.

But he couldn't. It was too painful, too much. Again, he should fight it. He was supposed to be a fighter, like his brother had been, like his brother had died doing, but he couldn't. He wasn't Alex and, no matter what Jean had said, it should have been him.

 _It should've been me._

Even in his pain addled mind, even though it really was what he was thinking, Scott knew that wasn't his thought.

"Kayla?"

The word was frightened and childish, and when his vision cleared, the snow was gone. He saw a girl of thirteen, maybe fourteen. She was wrapped up tightly in the arms of an older woman, maybe in her early twenties, rocking her back and forth slowly.

Both of them had thick collars strapped around their necks, and the woman the girl had called Kayla's eyes were wide.

"It's...it's...it'll be...I've got you Emma. I've got you."

The door opened, and two women walked in, as well as two men. Scott recognized one of them as Stryker. Where was he? Or, more importantly, when was he? Stryker walked through him as though he wasn't there, along with the other man.

"Be reasonable," the paler of the two men said, "She's too young to do you any good. Put her out there with your team, and they'd snap her in half."

"But she's trainable," said Stryker.

"In a few years, but I was under the impression you wanted an operative in the next few months," the other man said, his voice wheedling, "That can be done with the elder. But, if you still need little Emma in a few years, once I've had my chance, she can be a back-up."

Stryker cocked his head, then nodded. The other man smiled.

"Good," he said, "Regan, Martinique, fetch her the colonel."

The moved forward and grabbed onto Kayla's arm. Scott watched her flail, watched her fight. Emma started to scream, her fingernails scratching at the face of the one named Regan. Regan backhanded her and, together, they yanked Kayla on her feet. She managed to get one hand free though, punching the one Scott thought was Martinique.

Stryker moved forward, grabbed Emma by her hair, drew a gun. Emma stilled, and so did Kayla.

"You're going to come quietly," Stryker said, "Or your sister turns into a blood smear."

"You said I could have her!" the other man protested.

Stryker ignored him, and Kayla gave Emma a desperate look.

"Are you going to behave?" Stryker asked.

Kayla swallowed, and then nodded.

"Good," he said, "Now, remember, you give me any shit, any at all, and I will personally come here and shoot her until even you won't be able to recognize her. Understand?"

Kayla nodded, her eyes still on Emma, who was crying, every inch of her a cornered animal.

"Now, follow," he said.

For a moment, Kayla closed her eyes. Scott could see the tears falling, not noisily like Emma's, but softer, quieter, heavier.

"I love you," Kayla said.

"Get moving!" Stryker snapped.

She took a step forward, and Emma lunged for her. Martinique grabbed her around the waist, and Emma kicked her. A look of irritation passed over Martinique's face, and she slung Emma into a wall. When Emma looked up, she saw Kayla in the door frame, reaching for her.

Then, the door shut.

"I never saw her again. Like you did, with your brother. That morning."

Scott turned and saw Emma there, older now, tired, thinner. The pain was starting to return now, but it was still dulled.

"You shouldn't have seen that," Emma said, "But I saw your brother. I saw him...it should have been me. It should have been you. It never stops."

"Why are you hurting us?" asked Scott, "You don't owe Stryker anything!"

"They're going to kill me," she said, "I can't...my life isn't much, but it's mine. I don't want to die, okay?"

Her words were venomous, bitter. Scott walked closer, but slowly.

"I think they might know I helped Moira," she said, "And that's who you're here for, right? I don't think she has long. I think I heard a gunshot. It just hurts here..."

She rubbed her head absently.

"Emma," said Scott, her words filling him with panic, "You're right, we're here to help her, but we can help you too."

She looked uncertain.

"They like hurting people here," she said, "Science. Pain. Same thing here Scott. And don't mistake me, they will kill me if I don't kill you all first."

From somewhere distant, he thought he heard Jean breathing from behind clenched teeth. Scott swallowed, and words came.

"Yes, it's a risk, but that's the choice we have to make in life," he said, "That's Alex, and I think that's Kayla too! That's dying because we think we have a chance at something better, at being better, at not giving in. My brother died fighting for what he believed in, and I don't think your sister went down quietly either."

"They said Victor tore her up," said Emma, "One of the Wryngarde sisters called him Sabretooth. Like an animal."

"And is this what she would've wanted for you?" asked Scott, "All this pain? This half life?"

"You didn't know her," snapped Emma.

He was very close now.

"But I knew Alex!" he said, "Older siblings, they don't want this for us. They want something better because...because even if we don't want it, they want us to live more. We're always the ones that are going to do something with our lives to them!"

She looked at him for a minute, her whole face trembling. Emma closed her eyes, and then nodded.

"Be quick," she said, "I don't think they'll hold off for very long after I-"

Whatever else she was going to say stopped abruptly. Emma screamed as her fingertips caught fire. The pain ricocheted into Scott's mind, sending him hurtling, back into hurt, back into the snow, the image of Emma on fire in his mind.

* * *

From his place on the boat, Charles felt the psychic shock. It was hot, and painful, and he bowed his head, trying to shake it.

"Is something wrong?" asked Amanda nervously.

He held up a hand, trying to reassure her, but he could barely reassure himself. He knew that feeling in his head, had been on the outside of it as Jean forced Nur from his mind. She was fighting again, but this time the target was much smaller.

And he could feel their pain. Youthful pain, frightened, confused, lost.

 _Jean,_ he said, _What are you doing?_

She didn't answer. He put two fingers to his temples and dove in. He could see his students in the snow, saw his sister and Kurt screaming. He wanted to be sick, but he didn't. Both minds were coming through loud and clear. It was the usual for Jean, who had always reminded him of a lighthouse in her brilliancy, but it was unusual for another mind to be this expansive.

Jean! he yelled, _What are you doing!?_

 _She's hurting them!_

He reached out to the other mind and, reflexively, withdrew. She was hot, burning, screaming.

 _Jean, you're killing her!_

 _She won't stop!_ Jean said.

 _That's the pain she's getting from you!_ Charles said, T _hat's feeding back to all of you! It's a two way channel! The more you hurt her, the more you hurt them. And you'll be in her mind when she dies, as will you all._

 _Then it will stop! I can't think of anything else! I don't want to but..what am I supposed to do? I don't have another choice!  
_

She wasn't making any sense. Was Jean really this panicked? Yes, he could feel the pain, but this was blind lashing out. He moved closer to Jean and, for a minute saw the world through her eyes, the snow, the approaching guards loading their guns. He saw Scott writhing beside her.

 _Jean, you'll all be touching her mind when she dies!_ he shouted, _I've been inside a dying mind! It's agony. And for minds like Scott, Storm, Hank, Peter, Raven, Kurt? They're not telepaths. They could all very well die too!_

Jean hesitated, blindly looking around inside her mind. This was his fault. He should have trained her more, prepared her for this. Instead, he looked at the guards through her eyes, and prayed he was about to make the right choice.

 _Listen to me,_ he said, _Push it out on them. Push them back. I'll take care of whoever is attacking you. I can feel her. I can make her stop. She..._

He touched the mind again, and withdrew in pain.

 _She's hurting too much to stop on her own,_ he said, _I can help her._

Jean bit her lip, but he felt her withdraw. As Charles leapt from her mind into the other, he saw the guards pushed back, acidic flames eating at their boots. Flames encircled him, lit by Jean's abilities, and still burning. He moved through them, trying to find whoever's mind this was.

And then, he saw her, and he recognized her. The mind that had said Nathaniel Essex, that had seemed so young. This was what it looked like. The screams tore at him, although it was so very, very difficult to reach her. It was the fence again, but he pushed further.

Reaching out, he grabbed her hand. Concentrating with all his might, he pushed back the flames, rolling them back. They hissed and fought him. Jean's flames weren't fire, not in the traditional sense. They were psychic flames, corrosive and liquid.

For a few seconds, he felt frightened. Jean wasn't fighting him, but these were her flames, and she was the most powerful mutant he'd ever known. She'd taken down Nur, a feat unknown in history, by the sheer force of her mind. The flames were her unleashed at her strongest form.

Then, he steeled himself. At least for today, Jean was still his student, not the other way around. Charles from memories of the cold around him, of soothing moments, of watching Kevin fall peacefully asleep, his tears finally spent, of brushing hair from Moira's face.

Gathering their strength, he pouring ice from his mind, quenching the flames that threatened both of them. They vanished from the girl, peeled away, and she looked at him, plaintive and surprised.

"You're Charles, aren't you?" she said.

"Yes," he said, "Yes I am."

"I'm Emma," she said, "Who...what was that?"

Her words were harsh, but he couldn't quite blame her. She had been in agony, still looked like she was in agony.

"A misunderstanding on the part of one of my students," he said, "Emma, please, I know this is difficult, but theyr'e here to help you. Please don't hurt them."

She sighed, tired and frustrated.

"I was going to stop," she said, "Ask Scott. Then again, maybe it's not so much of a risk. Maybe death won't be half as painful as that."

She leaned back, and he could feel pressure flee from the area. His students were free, and Emma eyed him.

"I know where Moira is," she said.

His mind automatically blanked, before shifting, changing.

"Where?" he asked.

A series of corridors rushed into his head, as many twists and turns as she knew. He saw the room, and his fists clenched in anger when he saw what they had built, had strapped Emma to and made her hurt people.

"I'm there too," she said, "Don't leave me."

"We won't," Charles promised, "We'll take you with us."

Emma swallowed, still looking uncertain.

"Come quickly," she said, "I heard a gunshot. Maybe more than one."

Cold filled him, but he nodded briefly, trying to calm himself.

"I'll let everyone know," he said, projecting the route to his students' minds, "We're coming now."

"Thank you," said Emma, "I don't...it...thank you."

He smiled, and then the ground began to shake. He looked around in surprise and Emma curled in on herself. From somewhere, a slow clap began.

"Very good. I'd expect nothing less. Emma, you were fine on Cerebro II, I suppose. The flames though, those were a surprise."

Charles turned over his shoulder and saw a pale man, a curling smile on his lips.

"No need to introduce yourself," he said, "My name's Dr. Nathaniel Essex, although, you probably already know that. Emma has been busy, hasn't she?"

With deliberate movements, Charles moved in front of her, and Essex's smile widened.

"Yes," he said, "I've been wanting to meet you for a very long time Professor Xavier. We have so much to discuss."


	20. Chapter 20

The bullet ripped down the side of Martinique's leg, finding a final resting place in her foot. Martinique screamed, and Moira saw the two guards go for their guns. She yanked the gun out of Martinique's hands, suddenly unresisting, and slipped behind Martinique.

The shots went wide, but she noticed they were at her feet. So they were truly listening to Martinique's final order. Interesting. She turned and pivoted. Most of her career at the CIA had been spent at a desk. Then, information about mutants had become more valued and harder to find. It had meant more plane trips, more insertions behind dusty lines, and digging up Nazi files that had slipped into the hands of the Soviet Union after the war. If she'd been a terrible shot, then there was no way she'd have survived.

The first one she shot in the head. There was no protection there, no helmets, and the other she managed with a chest shot. A shot skimmed her shoulder, and she realized that Martinique had found another gun.

Moira ducked behind a pillar, and saw that Martinique had fallen to the floor, out of pain or something else, she wasn't sure. The sound of Moira's heart pulsed, filling her entire being. God, that had all happened. After a month of living day to day searching for an opportunity, she finally had one. And it was working.

It wasn't over though. She had to get Emma, and she was already starting to tire. The lack of nutrition and water were already getting to her, so she had to try and end this quickly before she started getting too weak to raise the damn gun.

Emma started a fresh volley of screams. She had to get to her, had to figure out a way to get her out that wouldn't hurt her. Hank had tried to remove the helmet when they'd been with Charles and things had gone wrong. That hadn't worked, but had that just been because Nur was in his mind?

She'd have to find out, and soon from the agony in Emma's screams. Moira peeked out behind the column and slowly trained her gun on Martinique. But her enemy wasn't trying to aim at her. Instead, she was holding her gun calmly in her lap, staring straight ahead.

The room began to shift, Moira's view of the world walls were shifting in color, more like the rich wood of Westchester, and she thought she could make out her son. He was only a few steps ahead of her, a book in his hands and attempting to read while he walked.

It was such a tempting image, but she could still feel the cold of the weapon in her hands. It hadn't quite faded. Nor had Emma's screams. As she slipped into the delusion, Moira raised her gun and shot blindly. Martinique howled and the room came back into focus. Her tormentor was clutching her shoulder, but she was moving.

Moira took a shot, but the gun clicked empty. Frustrated, she rushed forward slammed the handgun down onto Martinique's head. Martinique tried to move, but it made contact, knocking her out.

Panting, Moira snatched Martinique's gun from the floor and looked up, automatically bring it up with her. Regan hadn't moved the whole time during the encounter, and it was plain to see why. She was still holding the gun to Emma's head.

"Nice job there," Regan said, interested, "But try anything and I'll shoot the little princess right between the eyes."

She frowned as Emma continued to scream.

"Might be a mercy the way she keeps going on," said Regan, "You know, funny enough, Essex didn't mention it would do this. He usually does when it hurts people. Interesting."

Ultimately though, she shrugged.

"Unimportant I guess," she said, "But what I said still stands. Now, put your gun down. And don't make any sudden movements."

Breathing hard, Moira wondered how good her aim was. She wouldn't get another chance like this. Once she put the gun down, Regan would keep her captive until Martinique woke up, and then it was off to God knows where for God knew what in store for her and her baby.

Right now though, she could tell Regan was starting to get a little antsy. Impatient. Slowly, Moira removed one of her hands from the gun, and began to slowly bring it down and away from her. Regan smiled slightly, and Moira felt herself tense.

At the last moment, she whipped it back up and shot Regan in the head. Regan's blood splattered and she fell backward, the gun falling out of her hands. Moira breathed out, her hands trembling.

Emma's screams had turned to whimpers, but she still looked in pain. Moira hurried up to her and saw, for the first time, a pane of glass n the back. Had there been a controller there at one point? Perhaps, but they were gone now.

All that meant was they needed to get moving. She could see the way the helmet was lit up, not like the elegant design of Cerebro at Westchester, the one Hank's lovelorn heart had prompted him to give Raven's coloring. No, this one thrummed with electricity. There was a good chance that, if she touched it, she'd be fried.

She looked back at the pane of glass and hurried toward it. The door was open and she gained access easily. All of the dials were switched into the on position, and she found herself wondering if there was a specific order she needed to use.

However, there wasn't exactly a manual lying around. Her mind went back to Westchester's Cerebro, the way Alex's destruction of the machine hadn't killed Charles, just made him collapse. It was a different design, but a risk she'd have to take.

Moira cocked the gun, and started shooting at the control board. The lights fizzed and sparked, frying the panel. A few flames leapt up, but those could wait until later. She hurried up to the chair, shutting the door behind her, and saw Emma slumped over.

Carefully, Moira put her hand an inch away from the helmet. The air was warm. She tucked her hand inside her sleeve, a makeshift oven mitt, as she pushed the helmet away.

Moira gasped, her hand immediately going to Emma's shoulder. The girl had angry burn blisters all over her forehead. Her hair was singed.

"Emma?" Moira asked.

The girl didn't respond. She took a pulse, and it was still there, still steady. Moria immediately began fumbling with the girl's restraints. It was the work of a second to push them off her, but she was still unconscious.

"Emma, please, wake up!" Moira said.

No response. She needed her awake. She couldn't carry her and fight off guards. Not in her state. There was no water around to splash on her face, and Moira didn't want to slap her. Not after all the pain she'd just been through. She settled instead for shaking her, hoping that would be enough.

Emma's eyelids fluttered open. She looked confused, and more than just a little frightened.

"What's your name?" asked Moira.

"Emma," the girl murmured.

"Age?"

"Might be 16," Emma responded, "Why do you want to know?"

"Just making sure there's no permanent damage," Moira said, "Think you can stand?"

Emma nodded, and Moira gripped her arms, helping her to her feet. The girl took a deep breath.

"I saw Charles," she said.

Moira looked at her, her heart turning over in her chest.

"He's close," said Emma, "A lot of people are close. I showed them how to get to us."

"Good," said Moira.

It was all she could manage. Her emotions were threatening to overwhelm her. Charles was coming for her. The X-men were there. She could be telling Charles not to worry about her that night, hold him in her arms. She could see Kevin in a day or two, tell him not to worry either, raise both her children safely.

"We can't stay here though," she said, "It's not safe Emma."

"I don't think it's safe for him either," said Emma groggily, "He was talking to Essex when I was jerked away. Felt like shit."

She touched her blistered skin, and Moira pulled her hand away.

"You shouldn't touch that," she said, "But talking to Essex?"

"Not fighting," said Emma, "Or...I don't know. Essex is dangerous no matter what he's doing, okay? And he's been in my mind enough to know that it's bad."

"He's a telepath?"

"And some other things," shuddered Emma, "Out of his goddamn mind. I don't think...maybe I should warn Charles. I don't know where they are though...not without...hooking back up."

"I don't even know how to safely get you back in that," she said, "Not to mention I shot up the control board."

She managed a smile.

"And you don't know Charles like I do," Moira said, "He's the strongest man I've ever met, and the most gifted mutant."

"I hope he tears Essex a new one," growled Emma.

Moira smiled, but she also looked at the door out.

"We need to figure a way out of here," she said, "Do you know how to get out of this place?"

"No," said Emma, "Just up to a certain point."

Moira thought for a moment, then looked over at Martinique. She was still on the floor, still unconscious, but perhaps she could be useful.

"Can you read her mind?" asked Moira, jerking her head in Martinique's direction, "Find us a way out?"

Emma pursed her lips, but nodded. Moira walked her over, and Emma knelt.

"Touch helps," she murmured, putting a hand on Martinique's forehead.

Moira sat down behind her, feeling her body sing from relief. She was already tiring, and she would need her strength for whatever came ahead in the following hours. Emma's eyelids fluttered, her lips moving.

"Did you find a way out?" asked Moira.

"Yes, but...there's something else," muttered Emma, "Something...something...something else is going on here..."

Emma's eyes flew open, as did the girl's mouth. Her lower lip started to tremble, and Moira saw tears gather in her eyes.

"Emma?" she asked.

The girl's body went rigid, her face contorting with hatred. Underneath her hand, Martinique began to wake.

"You filthy bitch," Emma said, looking at Martinique, "You filthy, lying piece of shit! How dare you!"

A sparkle glittered up and down Emma's arms. Before Moira could move, she slammed her diamond arms into Martinique's chest. Martinique screamed, the snap of bones audible, and Emma drew her arm back for another blow.

"How dare you!" Emma screamed.

"Emma!" Moira cried.

She grabbed her shoulders, stopping her from bringing down her fists on Martinique's head.

"Let me go!"

"Emma, this isn't the way!" said Moira, "You can't just kill her in cold blood like this! You're not her!"

"You don't know what she did!" Emma wailed, "You don't know! You don't..."

The young girl began sobbing, her fragile shoulders shaking. Martinique began to stir, but Moira kicked her in the head, sending her back into the realm of unconsciousness. She slumped, and Moira turned her full attention to the young girl, gathering her in her arms.

"We need...we can't leave..." wept Emma, "Not yet. We have to...there's someone else here. We need to get them."

"Of course," Moira said, "We'll rendezvous with Charles and everyone and we'll-"

"We have to get them now," said Emma, pushing her away and trying to stand, "We can't...they'll take her away if we don't move fast!"

"Emma-"

"You don't understand!" Emma said, "She's only six!"

Emma stumbled, and Moira managed to catch her. The girl's tears were drying, but Moira blanched. A six-year-old? Here, in this hell?

"Please..." wept Emma, "Please, I know you've done so much, but we can't risk leaving her! I can't live without helping her! And I can't do it alone..."

Moira swallowed, thinking of Kevin, her baby, of Charles. She needed to get back to them, that much was certain. But could she look them in the eye knowing that she had abandoned a child to secure her own safety?

She picked up the gun, and helped Emma to her feet, praying she was making the right decision.

"Show me the way," she said.


	21. Chapter 21

Essex calmly waved his hand, and a chair appeared. He took a seat as Charles regarded him warily. There was another moment or two of silence, except, of course, for the sound of Emma's faint whimpers.

The noises stopped abruptly, and Charles turned. Emma was gone.

"I think our dear Emma has retreated," Essex said, "It's possible Regan's shot her, or Cerebro II was turned off."

The calm, unemotional way he spoke was infuriating. Charles would call it clinical, but it would be a disrespect to Hank. His turned, regarding Essex coldly, hoping that Emma's disappearance was due to the latter and not the former cause.

"Aren't you going to have a seat?" asked Essex.

"This isn't a dinner table conversation," replied Charles.

Essex laughed.

"I'll say," he said, "There's a lack of food, even of imaginary food. But one has to ask why you're here exactly."

"I thought that would be obvious," said Charles.

To his surprise, Essex perked up considerably.

"Oh, that's all?" he said, "I suppose, well, maybe it truly wasn't your operatives who attacked my agents those weeks ago. Well, Agent MacTaggert's release could be easily arranged. I'm surprised you didn't call me if that's all you wanted."

Charles narrowed his eyes.

"You kidnapped her after sending armed men into her house, nearly killing her partner, and you expected me to call first?" he demanded.

"She wouldn't give her research to Stryker," shrugged Essex, "Now, my other recourse was to straight up kill her so no one ever got the research, and then try to see if I could break her files out of the CIA. Believe it or not, that is not a simple task. Not ever since Magneto broke the White Queen out of prison two decades ago. They've amped things up considerably since then."

He folded his hands in his lap.

"But, research or no, I've moved on," he said, "You can have her back in, oh, nine months I think."

Charles stared at him for a moment, wondering if he was joking. When he realized he wasn't, Charles shook his head.

"I don't think you realize the situation you're in," he said, "We're not waiting nine months. God only know what you'll do to her between now and then."

"I have a vested interest in keeping her alive in that time," said Essex, "A very vested interest. It wouldn't do to tip the entire chessboard. It's already caused so many complications trying to remove a pawn."

"A pawn," Charles repeated, gritting his teeth.

"What would you have me say she is?" asked Essex, "She's definitely not your queen on the board: I think that honor goes to the little red-head with the flames. And I'm not promoting her to rook status."

Essex shrugged again.

"Regardless, the reason I wanted her for the past few months has become...well...secondary," he said, "I admit that I expected some sort of rescue attempt, but I underestimated the force you'd come at me with. I also expected Emma would prove a bit more...self-interested. Like her mother always was. It's why she didn't stay with the Brotherhood. And her daughter, rather vainly named after her, knows what happens when she doesn't obey. But I try not to cry over spilled milk."

Emma? Emma Frost had a child? He thought of the young girl, so small, broken and in pain. Charles steeled himself. One thing at a time.

"See, the problem with all this is that you think I'd be willing to compromise," Charles said, "That I'd be willing to leave More here with you one second longer than it takes to retrieve her."

"I think you really should take my offer," said Essex, his face becoming increasingly frigid.

"And why's that?"

Essex got up.

"So glad you asked," he said, "I think you should leave her here because, if you don't, I'm going to change my approach. Right now the guards are on orders not to do more than injure Agent MacTaggert a little if they run into her. Their main objective is to keep your operatives out. I had wanted to do this without her being harmed."

His smile thinned.

"Decline my offer, and that changes," he said, "Before my arrival, I ordered my men to rig the area with explosives."

He rested his hand on his chin.

"The kill switch is currently within my reach, my real reach," Essex said, "Say no, and I'll blow us all to hell."

* * *

There were four guards outside the door, looking at each other and murmuring. Moira raised her gun, but Emma closed her eyes, and they collapsed in a heap. Emma walked on them, heedless of their presence.

She stumbled when she got near the door, and Moira rushed to support her. The girl had been quiet after they had escaped, but there had been a gleam of something in her eyes, half mad and lost.

Emma gave her a grateful nod, then turned herself into diamond. For the first time, the pieces clicked into place as Moira looked at her. Her name was Emma. She was a telepath, and she could turn herself into diamond. She was even blonde.

Perhaps the pieces hadn't fit together because of everything else that was happening, but Moira realized just whose daughter she was looking at. At least, she supposed it was her daughter. The age was about right.

Emma smashed her fists into the door, and it gave way. Moira had expected another cell, but, instead, the room was nicely, if sparingly, furnished. There was even a bookcase in the corner.

A girl shrank away from them, hiding behind a curtain of long black hair. She was wearing a white, floor-length nightgown. A red bathrobe had been placed over her for warmth, and her dark eyes peered from dark skin.

She wasn't afraid, but she was watchful. A smile spread over Emma's features, and she crept forward.

"Aren't you so very lovely?" Emma whispered.

The child raised her head fractionally.

"Who are you?" she asked.

Her voice was tremulous and careful. Emma knelt on the ground, whether from exhaustion or caution, Moira couldn't tell. She was still smiling, and Moira saw tears in her eyes.

"I'm your aunt," Emma said.

Moira started, but, if she was shocked, the little girl looked like someone had poured a bucket of ice water on her.

"Aunt?" she repeated.

"Your mother was my older sister," said Emma.

The girl looked around, uncertain but hopeful.

"I...I have parents?" she asked.

The question was jarring, but Emma seemed to take it in stride.

"Of course you do," said Emma, "And you look quite a bit like my sister. Her skin, her eyes. She..."

Emma swallowed.

"She's gone now," she said, "They, these people, the ones who locked you here? They had her killed."

The girl bit her lip and looked down.

"Do I have a father?" she whispered.

Emma put both of her hands on the floor. Moira could tell that, yes, that gesture was for balance.

"I don't know where or who he is," said Emma, "I don't know if he's alive. But my sister must have loved him an awful lot to have a child with him."

Moira could see the child leaning forward, eagerly accepting every word.

"I only just found out about you," said Emma, "I think my sister died around the time you were born. But she would've loved you."

The little girl's lip trembled, and fat tears rolled down her cheeks. She ran over the debris and into Emma's arms. Emma wobbled, but before Moira could steady her, Emma found her own balance. She stroked the girl's hair.

"Do I have a name?" the child asked.

Emma blinked, and then looked up at Moira. It was the first time she had seemed startled by anything the girl said, although the past few minutes had all been strange. All Moira could do was look sickened at this latest piece of information though.

"I'm not sure what your parents would have called you," Emma said after a moment, "But...when it came to girl's names, my sister had a favorite. It was Laura."

She stroked her hair.

"So I'm going to call you Laura, because I think that's what my sister would've named you," she said, "Do you like that?"

The girl nodded, and Emma pushed her away slightly, still holding onto her arms.

"We have to get going now," she said, "It's very important we leave, because bad people will try to come for you."

Laura nodded, her eyes alert. Moira stepped forward, and Laura turned her questioning eyes to her. Emma smiled.

"She's a friend," she said, "A dependable one."

Moira put out her hand and helped Emma to her feet. Laura grabbed Emma's other hand, and the three made their way toward the exit. There were questions Moira wanted to ask, but at least Emma's violent reaction with Martinique made sense. All real questions could wait until they were safe.

"Which way?" asked Moira.

A thoughtful look crossed Emma's face, then she jerked her head down the corridor.

"We have to go back the way we came," she said, "This place is a labyrinth."

Looping her spare arm around her shoulders so she could support Emma, the three moved forward. Moira knew Laura kept tugging on Emma's arm, trying to go faster. Emma was near collapse though, and Moira wasn't too far behind. She was running on pure adrenaline at this point, and it was helping her ignore how dehydrated and tired she was, at least up to a certain point.

Moira cocked the gun as they turned another hallway. By her count, they still had some bullets left. It would help them until they found who they were supposed to find. Hopefully they could take them the rest of the way out.

They walked past the door to the Cerebro where Emma had suffered so much, and they kept traveling. Moira saw that some red lights had come on, bathing the whole facility in an eerie glow. Laura seemed to be frightened by it all, and Moira couldn't blame her.

Footsteps clattered down the hall. Moira raised her gun as two figures sped around the corner. She saw a gun pointed at her, but could barely breathe. The arm holding the weapon fell limply by her side.

"Mystique," she said, "Nightcrawler."

Emma raised her eyebrows as Mystique hurried toward them. An almost overwhelming urge came over Moira to embrace Mystique, the sight of a familiar, friendly face almost too much. It had been so long since she'd seen any of them.

But she knew how much Mystique disliked her, disliked what she perceived as weakness. So Moira stood perfectly still, only allowing herself to smile at the sight of them as they rushed forward, eyes scanning the area for any potential enemies.

Immediately upon reaching them, Mystique's hand went to Moira's forehead. She ignored the other two entirely, but Emma didn't really seem to care. She saw Kurt give a shy wave to them.

"Are you alright?" asked Mystique, "No fever, no bullet wounds?"

"Just a skim wound on my shoulder," Moira said.

"I'm glad," said Mystique.

She glanced over at Emma and Laura.

"Friends?" she asked.

"Fellow prisoners," said Moira, "I think we were the only ones locked up here."

"We were," Emma said, "I saw it in Martinique's head. Any chance we can get out of here?"

Mystique furrowed her brow at Emma, who tilted her head higher. Moira had a good idea of what she was seeing.

"Come on," Mystique said, "As soon as Nightcrawler gets a better line of sight all three of you are getting teleported to the don't look so great."

"All things considered, we look pretty good," Moira said.

It was a sad attempt at a joke, and one Mystique obviously didn't like. It was probably telling that Emma was the only one who chuckled. Perhaps it had just been too long since they heard something that was truly funny.


	22. Chapter 22

Charles stared at Essex, his breath in short pants, his mind racing.

"I would rather do this civilly," said Essex, "But the situation is getting rather dire. Judging by a faint warning bell I'm hearing on my end, they've broken in and, in addition to running away and ruining my property, they've stolen from me as well."

His thin smile became, if possible, thinner.

"Surely you can understand why that's upsetting to me?" he said, "Now, I'm willing to let the child go. She was the result of a long process, one I doubt I can recreate, but you have to take my deal."

"You were holding a child?" asked Charles.

His hands, which had already clenched into fists, curled in on themselves tighter. Disgust made his throat clench. From what he'd seen on Emma's face, this was no place for a rat, let alone a child.

"Not really a child," said Essex, "More of a science project. A costly, time-consuming science project. But it does look and act exactly like a child, yes."

He waved his hand.

"However, you're missing the point," he said, "I will personally guarantee Agent MacTaggert's death if you don't withdraw now. Hers and...I think that woman's your sister? I never really got confirmation on that."

"You'd die too," Charles said.

"Well...technically yes," said Essex, "But I can deal with that bridge when I come to it. Just know that I'm not above dying to achieve some petty revenge. It would be an interesting, memorable way to die after all."

Charles breathed in, trying to focus on something, bring some semblance of order to his chaotic mind. Nine months. He was not going to give Moira to this maniac for nine months. However, he was not going to allow her to be buried under concrete and dirt.

"You don't have that much time," Essex said, "And I'm perfectly honest about that, just so you know. I really will destroy this whole place in a couple of minutes."

"How do I know you even have a trigger?" he asked, "How do I know this isn't a joke of some kind?"

Essex looked wounded, but also slightly amused.

"Did you think I would bluff with no cards in my hand?" he asked.

"I don't know," said Charles, "I don't know you."

A look of irritation flashed across Essex's face but, after a moment, the look became much more thoughtful. Charles steeled his mind. He could feel tendrils tentatively probing his defenses, and he snarled.

"No," he said, "You don't get to go there."

Essex smiled, and waved his arms.

"Maybe you don't know," he said, "But I''m giving you exactly two minutes before I blow everything up. I think you'd sleep better at night if you made some sort of decision."

Charles closed his eyes, let out a breath. No. He wasn't about to make this decision. Wasn't about to condemn anyone to death, wasn't going to hand over Moira like she was some sort of package he could toss from place to place.

Slowly, creepingly, he began to move throughout the haze. He concentrated on moving along the same conduits of Essex's mind, but careful not to touch his actual consciousness. He didn't know just how strong Essex was, but he was definitely strong enough to appear to him purposely while he had a conversation with another telepath.

In a haze, he made out a mind near to Essex's, and grabbed it. It was a guard standing outside the door, and Charles used him to peer into the room. It was incredibly stressful to do this, so painful, but he had to move past the nausea building within him.

He could make out Essex sitting at what appeared to be a desk, what looked like a trigger beside him on the desk. Charles vaguely recognized the type and the model. Especially in the early days, Hank hadn't anyone to share his discoveries with, and Charles had, obligingly, listened to him. He found himself grateful for that, because he knew what type it was. It was a military model, one that wouldn't trigger the bombs when it was destroyed.

It hurt his head, keeping it in two places at once like this. But he forced the man to move inside the room, even as he fell to his knees in the other place. Essex made a comment about weighty decisions. Charles didn't answer.

The other Essex, the real one, turned as the guard came in the room. A gun clanked against his leg in a hip holster as he moved. Good.

"What is it?" Essex asked.

His words were slurred, not alert. He was as distracted by his conversation with Charles as Charles was.

"They've moved to the upper levels," he had the guard say.

Essex frowned and turned more fully. Quickly, Charles had the man draw the gun, shoot apart the trigger. The pieces went flying, and Essex turned to the man, his eyes suddenly alert, and then Charles felt a deep, rushing pain, pulling him back, away from the guard's eyes.

When he came to himself, the other Essex, the one in his mind, was standing over him, his hands on his throat.

"I thought we could do this like adults!" he roared.

He shoved him to the ground. Charles scrambled to move, but the next blow hit him like a sledgehammer.

"I thought, after Nur, after all your years knowing what happens when you go against the grain, you might appreciate someone who was willing to compromise!" Essex snapped, "And I was so close to having a natural born telepath!"

What was he talking about? Charles dodged the next blow. He managed to get to his feet, but he was still disoriented. The next blow sent him to the ground, his face buried in what felt like mud.

"After all this time, you still don't understand!" snarled Essex, placing his foot on the back of Charles's head and applying pressure, "You and Magneto! World conquest? Coexistance? Who cares? We're the future of this world! And that child inside MacTaggert? A child with an eighty percent chance of becoming a second generation mutant? Goddamnit!"

Charles stared at the ground, all feeling gone as Essex's words slowly made sense. Moira was with child. His child. He remembered a night where unconditional love and acceptance were spoken, both in thoughts and words. God, he could still feel her hands on his face.

The pressure increased, almost to the point of his bones snapping.

"I had big plans for this child Charles," Essex said, "And who cared, really? It's not like you even knew it! Trade them for the human you were throwing yourself away on. I hoped you would be reasonable, but apparently you're as foolish as your friend!"

Essex's voice washed over him. How many times in the years since Charles had sent her away had he pictured Moira as his wife, the mother of his children? There had been two nights when he'd woken up in a cold sweat, having dreamed that she'd woken him accidentally in the middle of the night, responding to the cries of a baby in a bassinet.

Those had been the nights when he'd been unable to stay away from her. Without a word to anyone, he'd gone down to Cerebro, and found her. The first night, he'd seen her driving a car through some European country, looking tired, but, as always, beautiful. The second time, she'd been alone, sleeping peacefully and, for a brief moment, he'd pictured his dream and started crying in Cerebro.

It had been an impossible dream, even if they had been together. He knew his condition made having children difficult. But, impossibly, they had found each other. Kevin had welcomed him with open arms, and he'd known he was truly blessed. Moira loved him, and he had a chance at having a son. She was going to stay, finally, someone he would be enough for.

Then, Essex had taken her. Now, he was trying to take their child, a birth that would make everything he had dreamed of a reality. A little brother or sister for Kevin. A life they could all raise together as a family.

"You can all go to hell-"

"You dare," Charles seethed.

Essex looked uncertain for a moment, as though something had gone wrong. Charles felt himself growing, getting to his feet. All around him, walls raised. They weren't in either of their minds, not really, but he could feel his fortress growing around him.

"You take the woman I love. You hurt her," he said, "And then you try to take my child. And you dare talk about giving anything to me!"

The world rippled, and Essex was knocked back. He shuddered on his feet, but glared back at Charles. Essex put out his hand and pushed through the air, ripping and howling.

Charles brushed it aside, advancing on him.

"They were never yours to take!" he shouted.

The punch he delivered sent him skidding through one of the walls into the next room. Charles vaulted after him, jerking him to his feet before he could push himself up. He threw him into the ground, his fury growing.

"Never yours to give!"

The next punch shoved him to the basement, and Charles jumped after him. He landed on his feet, barely feeling the impact. Essex was back up, and the punch hit Charles's shoulder. A blow to his stomach, to his face. Blood trickled down from his nose onto his neck.

He blocked the next one, but Essex had gained his stride back now. The blows rained down, and he could only block so many of them. Essex was grinning wildly, and Charles was reminded of when he'd fought Nur, of crawling on the ground.

The image swirled away, and was replaced with another one. As Essex's next punch came hurtling toward him, his mind wasn't on pain. It was on the image of Moira, seated on the edge of his bed, holding a baby, Kevin sitting next to her, smiling at his new sibling.

Waiting for him.

He caught the punch, crushing Essex's hand in his fist. Essex screamed, and Charles got back to his feet. He glared at him, blood still trickling from his nose and his lips, his breath harsh.

"They belong with me! They always have!" Charles shouted, "And you will never touch them! Never!"

His fist came down, smashing him further and further into the earth, beyond what was even the school. Essex's face was a mashup of blood. He reached down and heaved him up before slamming him back into the floor.

Essex moved out of the way, and Charles saw him flicker, like the mind of the man who had taken Moira. Teleportation. The thought pushed him on, his fist coming down yet again, and Essex cried out.

But the mind flickered again and again, no matter how much effort Charles poured into trying to find it. It was disorienting, and it was rare for him to get a good look at Essex, now that he was flickering in and out of his sight.

Every now and then, he managed another blow, another ounce of damage to Essex's mind. But those occasions were getting fewer and further between. Frustrated, the image of a family he could have still in his mind's eye, he screamed after him, words that he didn't think he had in him, but words he'd discovered at the thought of his unborn child being experimented on.

"You ever, ever come near me them again, and I will destroy you! Do you hear me!"

The image disappeared, and he opened his eyes. Amanda was staring at him, Megan clutching her legs. He frowned, and then noticed the blood on his lap, dripping from his nose and mouth. He managed a weak smile at them as his vision blurred.

God, how this must look to them. The man who had offered them protection and promised them safety had suddenly started bleeding, and now he was going to pass out. How frightened they must be.

Yet, even as his vision began to swim, and black claimed him, his mind still wasn't completely with them. It was at the base, where he prayed his students had already found the woman he loved.


	23. Chapter 23

Five guards stood in between them and the exit. Mystique gunned them down before they could so much as move toward them. They were all still moving slowly, but Moira knew that it was unlikely Kurt could carry either her or Emma, and Mystique needed to carry the gun.

Black spots swirled in front of her vision. She felt so damn tired, and the sandpaper feeling in her throat was crying sharply for water. Even her lips felt cracked and she couldn't help but wonder if Emma felt the same way.

As they moved, Moira thought she saw something on the wall next to her, but the light was off. An explosive device of some kind? No, it would be armed if that was what it was, and she could tell it wasn't.

They were in sight of what looked like a giant iron door when it was flung open. Kurt stepped in front of them and Mystique raised her gun, but it was just Peter, followed closely by Scott.

Snow blew in, and Moira shivered, realizing just how inadequately she was dressed for cold weather. God, was it winter already? Peter appeared before them, and Mystique's gun was suddenly pointed to the wall. His eyes lit up at the sight of Moira, and he grinned broadly, hugging her.

It was a light hug, but it was enough to throw her off balance. He quickly righted her, but the grin was still glued on his face. She thought the corners turned down slightly when he took in some of the finer details of her appearance, such as the dirt, scrapes and exhaustion, but he was still excited.

"Oh my God, it's totally been forever," Peter said, "Guess how many guys I punched to get in here? It was a ton! And I got that sumbitch with a cowboy hat! He's a snowman now!"

"What?" Moira asked, dazed.

After what felt like an eternity, it felt reassuring to be in Peter's presence. The urge to grab onto the first person she knew and cry in relief was gone now, but it was still good to see a friendly face.

However, she'd forgotten just how little sense he could make sometimes.

"No, seriously, I took all this snow right? And then I made a snowman, and I shoved-"

"Quicksilver," Mystique snapped, "Not the time."

"Okay, okay," said Peter, "But we gotta get you outta here. Saying this in all niceness, but you look like death!"

Moira gave a tight nod. Peter grinned, and then flitted so he was beside Emma, curious. She gave him a long look, but Laura hugged Emma and tried to hide behind her legs. Emma rested a hand on her niece's head.

"So, we got new friends?" Peter asked.

Emma ignored his question, and Moira realized she was looking at Scott. She wasn't certain because of the goggles but, from his expression, she guessed Scott was blinking in confusion underneath her gaze.

"You're Emma, right?' he asked.

"Yeah," she said.

She moved her hand from Laura's head to her shoulder.

"Say hi to the nice boy," she said tiredly.

"Hi," Laura said, still hiding her face.

"Hi," said Scott, "Nice to-"

"Okay, let's quit with the ice cream social," snapped Mystique, "Is there a blizzard out there?"

"Yeah," said Scott, looking away from Emma, but still slightly confused, "Um, Storm whipped it up. For cover."

Mystique looked over at Kurt, who was worrying his lip.

"Can you teleport through that?" she asked.

Kurt walked up to the door and peered out it. A few flakes settled in his dark hair before he gave a brisk nod.

"I can sort of see vhere I am going," he said, "I zink I can do zis."

"Good," said Mystique, "Can you take all three of them back to where we left Amanda?"

"Ja," said Kurt, "Ja, ja."

His tone was nervous, and Moira couldn't help exchange a look with Mystique. She glanced back at Kurt.

"Are you certain?" asked Moira.

"He said he could do it," snapped Mystique, "Now get to the damn boat, okay?"

Yes, there was the Mystique she knew so well. Moira put Emma's arm around her neck and helped her over to Kurt.

"I can take one, help you out man," said Peter, "I mean, I could probably run super fast with Moira over there, you can take the other two."

"Going too fast won't be good for her," Mystique said stiffly, "You'll make her sick."

Moira startled. Could she know? No. There was no way she could possibly know that she was pregnant. But there was something in that tone, a sort of warning to Peter, a protective edge, that made Moira check her assumptions.

She paused, thinking for the first time how teleportation or even moving at fast speeds might affect her. It was difficult. She had spent almost all of her energy getting to the entrance. However, the last time she'd been teleported, she assumed the goal had been to make her pass out. It had accomplished its mission handily.

But she didn't think Kurt would do that many teleportations. And, even at his worst, the man had obviously not made her miscarry. There was no such guarantee with Peter's speed, or that it wouldn't make her throw up upon reaching her destination. But they did need to ease Kurt's load in some way. Her eyes traveled to Emma, and she bit her lip.

"Emma, maybe you should travel with Quicksilver," she said.

Emma's grip tightened around Laura.

"I'll be with Laura the entire way," Moira soothed.

"I don't even know the guy with the tail, and you all are expecting me to trust him to take me somewhere I can't control," Emma said between clenched teeth, "And that was damn difficult. What makes you think I'll trust the silver sprinter over here?"

"Quicksilver!" said Peter, waving his arms.

Scott stepped forward and, hesitantly, put a hand on Emma's arm. Emma turned, her eyes flashing, but didn't lash out.

"He may not look it, but he won't let you down," Scott said, "And neither will Nightcrawler. They're good people Emma."

She looked at his hand, and then turned her gaze to Laura. Her niece looked up at her with big eyes, and Emma let her go, bringing her own fingertips to her lips. Gently, she laid them on Laura's forehead. Kneeling down to kiss her would probably render her unable to get back up again.

"What's that?" asked Laura.

Emma tensed and shared a quick look of dismay with Moira. The child had wanted to know her name, didn't understand what a kiss was.

"Just telling you I love you," said Emma brightly, "And you're going to stay with Miss Moira, and I'll see you in a few minutes."

"I'll probably even beat him there," said Peter, "And then we'll come back and get everyone else, okay?"

Moira nodded, the black spots swimming a little brighter. She moved over to Kurt, grabbed his hand tightly.

"Not to alarm you," she said, "But I think I'm going to pass out soon."

His blood-red eyes blinked at her, his mouth slightly agape.

"I can second that," Emma said, "And...water. I want water."

"Plenty of water where we're going doll," Peter said, "Nightcrawler, I think we should take the girls to a place where they can pass out and not hurt themselves and-"

His eyes widened.

"Hey, guess what?" he asked, "The Professor's asking about Emma! And we already got her! Awesome!"

Kurt grinned, and Emma ducked her head. Maybe she hadn't thought they would keep their promises. For her part, Moira tried to imagine a place where she felt safe enough to pass out. These days, she hadn't even felt safe enough to sleep. All she'd done was close her eyes when her tiredness overcame her.

"Cyclops, kick it open!" Peter howled, "We're headin home!"

Scott wrenched the door open, and Moira felt black tendrils of smoke curl around her.

* * *

Charles's faint had, luckily, only been a few moments. Megan was still looking frightened, but Amanda had already mopped up the blood by the time he woke. He'd managed to give a hurried explanation, but he could tell Amanda didn't fully understand. It was, he admitted, rather complicated.

Everything ached. He thought longingly of the few cabins below deck. There were three altogether, and he imagined what it would like to lay down. Mostly they were just full of excess blankets, a few medical supplies Hank thought the would need.

But it wasn't enough. He sent out a message to his students to search for Emma as well. The boat was going to be crowded, that much he expected. They had only thought of adding Kurt, Raven and Moira to their number when setting out. Now they also had Megan, Amanda and Emma, when they rescued her. He had every faith they would. Scott had, after all, made a promise as well.

Something wooshed past him, then reappeared.

"Hey, we got another blonde!" Peter said cheerfully, "And this kid who looks at me like I'm weird!"

Before he could inquire about just what it was Peter was going on about now, black smoke mushroomed up in the middle of the room.

"Ve are here."

A small child with dark hair jumped away from Kurt. Her bathrobe fluttered about her, and she stumbled, clutching the wall and looking dazed. Her nostrils flared and her bright eyes took in everything in the room.

But, for the first time in his life, the sight of a child eager to learn something only dimly registered. After more than a month, he saw her. Moira was propped up in Kurt's grasp, her head lolling to the side, and her breaths tired.

He could see the marks on her face, her clothes worn by the weather and neglect. She was shivering so much, whatever cold she had been exposed to, however brief it had been, was obviously hurting her.

She began to slump, and there was a burst of smoke. A woosh went past him, no doubt Peter was trying to get the rest of the X-men, but his eyes were already on the ramp that led to the lower levels. It was the only place Kurt would take her so quickly. It was clear that she was exhausted, that she was passing out.

More black smoke let him know that Kurt had gone back out. His lightning team, gone to fetch their comrades. Charles just made it to the bottom of the ramp when he heard all of their voices, Storm trying to figure out what was going on, Kurt asking Amanda if she was okay, Peter telling everyone about a snowman. Notes reached his ears of Mystique snapping to get the boat going, Hank saying he was hurrying. Jean and Scott were both asking each other something or other.

He opened the door on his right. The door was slightly ajar, and Kurt's goal would have been to get in and out. It was the only reason he'd have taken her so fast, that he thought she needed to be set down before anything else. A scampering behind him made him briefly look over his shoulder. The little girl had scurried into the same room as Emma, shutting the door tightly.

Charles turned away, opened the door to Moira's room. Kurt had taken the time to cover her up. Charles smiled to himself, pushed his chair forward until it bumped up against the side of the bed.

Blearily, Moira looked to the side. He saw tears gather in her eyes, felt his own mar his vision. He wiped them away, drinking in her face, her presence. Hesitantly, he placed his hand on her face, feeling the weight of her flesh, its solidity. The residue of his tears smear the mar of the dirt.

As he felt her skin, felt the boat lurch forward, he realized it was over. After so many weeks, they had found her. The woman he loved wasn't in the clutches of a sadist. She was here, safe, on her way home, their child soundly growing inside of her.

One of her hands reached up. He used his spare hand to grasp it. The tears he'd wiped away had been replaced with new ones, and they were flowing quickly. He pressed his lips to her hand, clutching it as tightly as he dared.

he bowed his head, his forehead just touching hers.

"You're safe love," he whispered, "You're safe now."


	24. Chapter 24

Hank had told Jean to steer the ship while Scott was put on watch. It was fairly safe to do so: they were traveling through smooth waters at the moment. The others were napping, taking up the third cabin, or wrapping themselves up in blankets and curling up in the main room. He had to pick his way over their bodies as he moved downstairs.

He hesitated before knocking softly on the door to one of the rooms.

"You can come in."

He didn't recognize the voice, so he figured it must be Emma or her niece. Good. He opened the door and found Emma fast asleep, Laura curled under her arm. Laura was watching him with wide eyes, and he smiled brightly at her.

She cocked her head slightly.

"Why are you here?" she asked.

Hank hesitantly put his doctor's bag down and drew up a chair. Laura didn't seem frightened of him, but he'd heard from some of the other X-men how distrustful Emma was of strangers.

"I'm here to make sure your aunt isn't hurt," he said, "And, if she is, to see what I can do to help."

Laura smiled and moved over slightly. Emma didn't stir. He'd imagine she was exhausted, and he winced when he got a good look at the blisters on her forehead. He fished in his bag for a disinfectant wipe and gently brushed it over the injury, trying to clean away the dirt.

Emma's eyelids twitched, but she didn't wake. When he was done, he applied aloe. It was all he could do at the moment, but he knew it would itch terribly when she woke. What she really needed was a shower, and a thorough examination, but the earlier he did this, the better.

As he worked, he could feel Laura's curious eyes on him. He wasn't in his blue form, so he wasn't quite sure why she was staring so much. He pulled the blanket back slightly, saw Emma's filthy arms. Her fingernails, he realized suddenly, were chipped and bloody. Had she been digging her fingers into something?

He cleaned them and bandaged the ones he could. One of her fingernails was missing almost entirely, but it didn't look as though it had happened during the course of the night. It was easy to tell, since she was all bones. That would need to be looked at.

He bandaged it and moved on. Her toenails had similar issues, and her bare feet were thick with cuts. He cleaned and bandaged them as quickly as he could. There was nothing irreparable, at least not physically, but the level of neglect it showed was astounding.

It was also clear that she was badly dehydrated. He'd prepared for this possibility, although he wished he'd prepared more. They hadn't expected two patients who would need this kind of care.

He cleaned the back of her hand and took out an IV line from his bag. He heard Laura shift, and he turned to look at her. Her eyes were wide, looking from Emma's hand to Hank's needle. Hank gave her a gentle smile.

"I just need to give your aunt an injection so she'll be able to get some more water into her," he said, "She needs more water."

Laura nodded, biting her lip.

"You can tell her that when she wakes up," he said, "I'm sure she'll want to know."

Laura stopped biting her lip, but looked thoughtful.

"So...it's not going in her eye?" she asked, "Because that hurts, and I don't want you to hurt her."

Hank stopped what he was doing. He put his needle down, and then moved closer to Laura. She didn't seem afraid, merely put a finger on her eyelid and the area underneath it, widening it. He could just make out the tiny marks that indicated a needle had been slipped there.

Several times.

"Were...was something wrong with your eyes?" he asked.

He dreaded the answer.

"No," Laura said, "I could always see fine. But they said they wanted to see if I could push myself."

She let go of her eyelid.

"He was a doctor," Laura said.

"No he wasn't," Hank snapped.

She jumped slightly, looking suddenly troubled. Hank reached out, unsure if he was doing the right thing. Nonetheless, he placed his hand on her shoulder. She stared at it curiously before looking at his face.

"No one who causes you pain to 'push' you is a doctor," said Hank, "I want you to remember that."

Laura nodded, although she looked slightly puzzled. It was like he'd shifted her entire worldview. Hank swallowed once, inserting the IV and the attached bag into Emma's hand. When he finished, he placed the bag on a nearby dresser.

"Now," he said, "Are you hurt anywhere?"

"No," said Laura, "I'm never been hurt anywhere. Not really. Not since...a month ago I think. So most of my life."

The comment was strange, but now was not the time to investigate. Not the way he wanted to, and not with another person in need across the hall. He'd only come here first because he thought Emma might be worse off.

"I'm sick a lot though," Laura said.

He managed another smile.

"I don't think you'll be quite so sick from now on," he said.

"Why's that?" she asked.

Because people weren't sticking her with needles and doing God knows.

"Just a hunch," said Hank, "You can get back to bed now. Get well rested, and I'll be back in to check up on your aunt soon."

She nodded, snuggling under Emma's arm. The look she gave her aunt was pure adoration, and Hank had to swallow bile. What had they done to her? He didn't say anything though, just tucked her in and gave her one last smile.

When he was out in the hall he put down his case and rubbed his eyes, feeling tiredness and tears gathering. But this was why he had wanted the X-men to return, wasn't it? So that he could help children like Laura. Six years old was too young for this.

"Are you finished yet?"

He turned, jumping, and saw Raven there. Her eyes were flickering to the other door. He thought she'd been asleep with the rest. Evidently his movements had woken her up. He wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad thing.

"I'm going to be seeing to Moira in a minute," Hank mumbled.

She cocked her head.

"Are you alright?" Mystique asked.

"Dandy," he mumbled, "Just, stars and garters..."

"What?"

"Nothing," he muttered, picking up his case.

He moved to the other room, and realized Raven was following him. He looked at her and frowned.

"I'm not sure Charles and Moira will want an audience," he said.

"I just need to make sure you don't do anything stupid while you're in there," she said.

He pursed his lips.

"Fine. Whatever," he said, "Because, apparently, I can't be trusted to be a doctor anymore. It's not like I was actually trained to do that or anything."

"Hank, that came out wrong," Raven said, looking uncertain, "It's just that, there are some things you don't...it's just...it's complicated."

"Forget it," he said.

He opened the door, forgetting to knock. Charles didn't look too perturbed though. His wheelchair was abandoned, and he'd maneuvered himself so he was seated on the cot, his back to the wall. Moira's pillow was propped up by his legs, and her head was resting on top, turned to the side.

One of her hands was in front of her face, and Hank realized it was clasping Charles's. His arm was laying gently across her shoulder. When Hank took a step in, Charles put a finger to his lips. Moira, like Emma, was fast asleep.

Hank nodded and walked in, followed by Raven. He wasn't sure if Charles realized his sister was going to be an audience member, but he decided not to bring it up. Instead he gently took her pulse and checked her for any visible injuries. There were a few superficial scrapes, but other than that she seemed fine for current injuries.

Older ones were different. A few cigarette burns were visible on her arms. Hank heard Charles suck in a breath when they were revealed, could feel his eyes follow Hank's movements as he cleaned them.

"They're not infected," Hank murmured, "So, we can thank God for small mercies."

"Good," Raven said, "Because there's not much else we can thank him for right now."

"We're all here," said Charles, not looking up from Moira, "We're all alive. I call that a win."

Hank chose not to comment, instead digging around for his other IV bag. Moira too looked dehydrated. He cleaned her hand, eyeing a large vein that should work for the IV.

"What's that?" asked Raven.

"Just fluids," Hank said, irritated.

She didn't say anything else, and he finished his work. He got up.

"I'll need to plan out their diets for the next month at least," Hank said, "Emma's will have to be regulated for longer. She's in a pretty bad state of starvation. Moira not so much, and Laura looks fine, but they can't just start eating cheeseburgers. They'll be able to eat what I tell them to, and nothing else."

"There might be certain things Moira can't have," Charles said.

"What do you mean?" asked Hank.

Charles's thumb began stroking the back of Moira's hand.

"I trust your discretion in this, at least until I know for certain how she wants to tell everyone, and if she even knows," said Charles, "But you're her doctor, and you need to know that we're...we're expecting...she's pregnant. Around a month."

Hank's mouth went dry. So many questions raced through his mind. Moira was, if he was any judge, forty-five. Charles was nearly fifty, and in a wheelchair. The odds of this happening were slim. Her keeping the baby safely through what she'd been through was another layer of improbability, but apparently, it had worked.

How did Charles even know that she was pregnant? Could, looking at Charles's question, Moira know? It was unlikely. Morning sickness could be chalked up to conditions, and she couldn't be that far along. Conditions might exacerbate it, but still.

However, the questions could wait. The doctor within him warred with the friend for a moment, but the friend triumphed. He smiled gently.

"Congratulations," said Hank.

"Thank you," Charles said.

Hank cleared his throat.

"But...how do you know?" he asked, "No offense, but, you said she might not know, so I guess she didn't tell you."

"She didn't," Charles said, "Essex...he wanted to...never mind. I know she's pregnant."

"So do I," said Raven.

Hank turned, her intrusion now cast in a different light. She gave a small shrug.

"Did she tell you?" asked Charles.

"One of Essex's minions was trying to get a rise out of me," said Raven, "She knew I was your sister. Thought I might make a mistake I guess."

Charles gave a small nod and turned his attention back to Moira.

"Well then, we'll have to be extra careful with her," said Hank, "Do you...you say about a month. Do you know a more precise date or...?"

It was an awkward question to ask Charles, his friend and mentor, but it was a necessary one.

"Four weeks and three days," Charles said.

"Right," Hank said, trying to stop his mind before he figured out what had been going on that day, "Right. I'll be going upstairs. Jean'll probably be relieved to have me take over."

Charles gave him a small nod, and Hank gathered his materials. He heard the door close, and discovered Raven had left without a word. He would, he realized then, never really figure out how she saw a situation, how her mind worked. Perhaps that was just the way it was.

He paused in the doorway, looking back. Charles was still gripping Moira's hand tenderly. His mind drifted back to the day when they were trying to find the source of Jean's nightmare, Charles's expression when he saw her through Cerebro.

It had been nothing compared to the depth of what he saw now.

"I mean it Charles," Hank said quietly, "Congratulations. You both deserve to be happy."

Charles smiled, a strange smile that seemed to encapsulate the decades where Hank had watched him crumble and glue himself back together.

"Thank you Hank," he said, "Truly, thank you."


	25. Chapter 25

Emma woke with a start, saw the IV in her hand, felt something cool and soothing on her forehead. She touched it, and then sniffed it. Aloe maybe? So they had doctored her wounds.

Disinterested, she looked down at Laura. She had, now that she was looking at her, the most adorable button nose. She hadn't managed to catch the color of her eyes, but they were dark. Emma was sure of that. Laura's long hair was an odd black-brown, the perfect color.

She looked so much like Kayla it physically hurt, but it was a sweet pain. If her sister couldn't be there, then she would protect the last existing part of her, the last sliver of her soul that still existed on the planet.

Then again, it was unlikely Kayla had ever known about Laura. It was possible she hadn't even known the father from Martinique's jumbled memories. While she was glad Moira had hit her on the head, it made it harder to read her thoughts since they were so disoriented.

No matter. It had been enough to know that Kayla was Laura's biological mother. Maybe the girl didn't need to know about some of the more unsavory parts of her conception though, definitely not now, and perhaps not ever.

Because, as she'd said, it didn't matter if Laura's life had begun in a test tube, and not a womb. It didn't matter to Emma that Kayla was mainly Laura's mother in the academic sense that a mother was a person who donated genes.

It made the father matter even less. Martinique believed he was powerful, that much Emma gathered. That just meant Laura would be powerful. It was why Essex wanted her in the first place.

She'd meant what she'd told Laura: Kayla would've loved her. Kayla had been a teacher, and she'd loved children. She'd always told Emma she wanted children, which is how the name Laura had first come up. It was what she would've been named.

And Emma would protect her, even if she had to die to do it. For now though, she would concentrate on getting stronger however she could. Charles had obviously been strong enough to beat Essex, and she had to learn how he'd gotten that strong.

Laura was, after all, family. And family should look after each other, no matter how they got their start in life.

* * *

Everything felt a little heavy, a little surreal as Moira felt her surroundings seep into her. The bed, while no perfect cloud, was so soft, and she'd never believed she would ever bee this warm again. Even the scratchy feeling in her throat was going away.

It wasn't perfect, but it was so much better than what she'd had even a few hours ago. Had it been hours? She wasn't so sure.

What she was sure of was there was something warm under her pillow, on her hand and across her shoulder. Although sleep and exhaustion were weighing her down, both of them calling to her so sweetly, she opened her eyes.

Charles was there, his hand leaning against the wall, his eyes closed. His arm was draped across her shoulders, his hand enfolding hers. He was using himself as a prop for her pillow, and she wanted to cry.

She must have squeezed his hand instinctively, or maybe shifted, because he startled awake. He looked around, wild-eyed and alert, but the expression soothed when he saw her looking up at him.

"You're awake," he said.

"Looks like," she replied.

Moira licked her lips, trying to moisten them. She missed chap stick. Charles caught the motion and reached out, shifting his body so he could reach the nightstand. He opened the drawer and pulled out a bottle of water. It looked banged up, but when he unscrewed the cap and handed it to her, she took it gratefully.

"Small sips, and not too fast," he said.

"I know," Moira replied, raising her eyebrows.

He gave her a sheepish smile. Although it was difficult, she did manage to take the correct type of sips. She didn't want to get sick, and she was glad she had her training behind her to act as a guide.

Moira closed up the bottle before she drank it all. She'd only drained around half before she handed it back to him, gesturing for him to put it on the nightstand to avoid further temptation.

When she did, she noticed the IV in her other hand. Her eyes followed the chord and saw the bag on one of the shelves of the stand. She chuckled to herself. It certainly explained some things.

"Hank was here, wasn't he?" she asked.

"Yes," Charles said, smiling, "He..."

The smile dropped off his face.

"He tended to your burns," he said quietly.

Moira didn't look down, didn't try to see what Hank had done for the scars she knew were forming on her arms. She hadn't forgotten about the tiny dots of pain, not really. They had just been pushed to the back of her mind as cloying exhaustion became all that she could think about.

They were obviously preying on Charles's mind though. She could imagine his eyes following Hank's ministrations, watching as he cleaned every scrape. If she'd been awake, he probably would've held her hand the entire time.

Given their position when she'd woken up, he'd probably done that anyway.

"I...how are you?" he asked.

"Not that great," she admitted, "But, I think I'm doing better than Emma. Hank's seen to her, right?"

"I believe so," Charles said, "But her suffering doesn't make what you went through any less terrible. It doesn't make the danger you faced any less real."

His hand moved slowly over her shoulder to touch her hand again. She grasped it slightly. With her other hand, careful of her IV, she pushed herself up and pulled herself to the left slightly. That way, she could rest her head on his shoulder, her body against his chest, his warmth.

Charles made no mood to stop her, simply moving the pillow out of her way and placing it on the dresser. Shivering slightly, she pulled her blanket with her. Charles wrapped his arms around her, resting his lips on her forehead.

One of his hands moved down to her elbow to pull up the blanket. As he did so, his arm brushed up against her stomach, and she paused, her mind sparking. Yes, of course. She closed her eyes.

She tried to remember symptoms of a miscarriage, trying to check. She'd had a lot of pain recently, but none in her lower back. There hadn't been any blood anywhere, neither before or now, and she believed that everything was safe.

The baby had been one of the most frightening aspects of the whole experience. It wasn't that she was pregnant, but rather the circumstances she'd found herself in with the baby. It seemed surreal that the child would live at all, that she would, but they'd made it.

Her hand slid away from the blanket and rested on her belly, still flat, but she knew it wouldn't stay that way for long. She opened her eyes, looked at Charles, at the tender look on his face. He deserved to know as soon as possible, and that soon was now.

"Charles?" she whispered.

"Yes love?" he asked.

She swallowed and gripped his hand tightly.

"Charles I...I'm not sure how to say this," she said, "And...well, I haven't had any tests done, but...but..."

Moira sighed again, looking at his calm face. There weren't any signs of alarm, or even of worried curiosity in his features. He was just looking at her with his normal kind, loving expression.

So why was this so hard? Maybe it was because she'd spent so long worrying quietly in her cell. She'd kept her lips pressed together, worried she'd be tortured and miscarry, worried they would find out and do something terrible. They had found out in the end, how she didn't know, but even then they'd managed to escape.

Now though, now they were safe. They both were.

"I'm pregnant," she said.

Charles didn't look at her, shocked. He didn't splutter and ask how. His smile just broadened, and he gave her hand a squeeze. Despite everything, she found herself torn between a laugh and a scoff.

"How'd you find out?" she asked.

"That obvious?" asked Charles.

"Yes," she said.

He shrugged slightly. Charles paused, his thumb moving over her knuckles.

"I was...he told me," he said at last, "Essex, I mean. He was the one in charge. He was enraged, said I was in his way. He wanted...never mind."

"Martinique, one of my jailers, she told me they had plans," Moira said.

He nodded, his jaw tightening. She could feel his arms move a little firmer around her.

"He did, yes," said Charles.

His voice was dull, and she could detect a note of anger. Part of Moira wanted to ask what Essex had said. However, she'd learned a few things as a CIA analyst, chief among them was to try not to ask painful questions you already knew the answer to.

There was, however, a few questions she did want answered.

"And...when you found out...how did you...?" she asked.

This was a question she felt fairly confident about, but this was the type of question she did needed answered. He kissed her forehead again.

"For a very long time," he said, his voice soft, "I pictured a life with you. I was too...cowardly, I suppose, to find you, tell you how I felt. There was a time when I was so depressed I had difficulty pulling myself together. It was always painful to think of you, because I had convinced myself I wasn't supposed to want things."

He brought her hand up to his lips.

"But...when you came back into my life, I just realized how much I needed you," he murmured, "And when you forgave me, old dreams could suddenly become a reality. Not that I thought most of them were possible. I had, after all, waited a long time. And I wanted so much for you."

She wanted to say something, but he shrugged and plowed ahead, not meeting her eyes.

"And I wanted you to stay," he said, "That was all I thought I could hope for and even that...but you said you would. And, I never really had a chance to tell you, but Kevin and I get on very well. I...I missed out the chance to be his biological father. But I can't imagine what it's like to love a child more than I love him. And I know he's rather fond of me."

The words warmed her. Sure, she'd known Kevin liked Charles while they were all at Westchester together. He'd given her updates over the phone, but she'd been keeping the calls brief for security purposes when she'd returned to the CIA.

"You've always been good with children," she said.

He smiled, still not meeting her eyes.

"What I'm getting at Moira, rather poorly I think, is that I want you to stay," he said, "I want to be there for you. And I want to be there for the baby. I want Kevin to remain at the school and grow up there with his new sibling, girl, boy, mutant or not. I want...I want all of that Moira, but only if you want it."

Charles met her eyes then, and she saw an unending depth of longing, of desperation, of love. She realized then that he didn't just want her and the baby and Kevin to stay. He wanted her to want it as badly as he did.

She grasped his hand and pulled it to the side of her head, leaning into his touch.

"Read my mind," she murmured.

He cocked his head slowly, and she felt a soft murmuring in her head. She tried to convey everything she was feeling, her love everything she'd hoped for into her thoughts.

Tears fell from his eyes, and he bowed his head, capturing her lips with his. Moira abandoned the blanket to wrap her arms around his neck. She could feel his heart beating against her chest, just as fast as hers.

The past few weeks melted away, and only that moment existed.

* * *

 _ **A/N:** Three more chapters to go._


	26. Chapter 26

Dawn had long since come and gone when he sighted the mainland. Jean had grabbed a pillow and fallen asleep on the floor, as had Scott. They'd both had a very long night, and Hank could double as both pilot and watchman. Surprisingly, after the events of the night, he was wide awake.

He'd made the decision to skip going to Charles's property. He'd let him know once they got to the airport. Everyone was, surprising enough, in pretty good shape. Well, Emma and Moira weren't great, but what could be done for them could easily be done on the plane ride back. There'd probably be a stop at a hotel so they could shower up, since he didn't think Moira wanted to appear to Kevin wearing the dirt of the past month and smelling of jail. From what Jean had told him about the day in Charles's office, he was a sensitive child when it came to seeing those he loved in distress.

Leaning forward, he scanned the horizon. With everyone asleep, it was quiet, and that gave him time to think. Hank still had about an hour or so left of steering before he reached their destination, and after that he'd have more medical concerns to account for. Everyone would need feeding, and he'd need to figure out what Emma and Moira could eat that wouldn't make them sick.

He didn't think he'd have too big a problem with Laura. She looked like she might stand to gain a pound or two, especially considering her age. He wondered what the monsters who called themselves doctors at Essex's facilities had been feeding her. Hank dismissed it with a tapping of his fingers on the wheel.

Moira was the one who would be the real problem. Yes, Emma would need more care. Her bones jutted out at every angle, and she'd had harsh cheekbones to begin with. It made her look like she was about twenty and, clean her up and she might be able to pass, in baggy clothes, for an actress. He hoped they'd be able to figure out a way around it. It wouldn't do to have attention drawn to a teenager who was only a level or two above starvation weight.

But, again, Moira. She was pregnant. He tapped the steering wheel again, wondering. While Hank considered himself an expert in a wide variety of subjects, babies were not one of them. He'd studied them, certainly, and the gestation period. He was, he figured, alright.

In the coming days, however, they would need to keep very careful watch on her. She'd been through an ordeal, and he knew risks were high in the first three months or so of pregnancy. Add that to a situation where she'd been locked up like an animal and it might be enough to drive anyone mad, if she had known.

Movement caught his attention, and he looked over his shoulder. Raven was coming up from the lower level, looking tired. He turned back to the water, running over foods she could and couldn't have. Maybe he should do some reading in the next few days, find out what would help her recover faster. A baby was an extra strain on what he clearly knew was an already strained body.

Raven moved so she was standing beside him. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"I didn't mean to say you were stupid," she said, "Earlier. I just meant...I knew she was pregnant, you didn't, and I didn't know if Charles would feel comfortable telling you."

He paused, correcting their course slightly.

"What do you need?" he asked.

The flatness of the words surprised him, but they seemed right. She looked at him, surprised.

"Hank, what makes you think-?"

"Because," Hank said, "that's the only reason you ever come to me. The last time you came to me and just wanted to talk, didn't have something you needed, didn't want me on your side for something, we were teens."

"A lot has been going on lately Hank," Raven said.

"Yeah, it has," said Hank, "But I am, and always will be, the guy you go to when you need something. A guy you ask to fly the plane or to support you when you're worried about the CIA. I'm this other guy and..."

A thought hit him, and weighed him down. God, it was so obvious.

"I'm just..." he said.

He closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing hard.

"I'm just tired of it Raven," he said, "I'm tired."

Raven didn't say anything, not at first. He looked back over the sea, waiting to either fall asleep or for her to leave. Either way he had the feeling it would be a great mercy, and he was eager for them to happen.

Neither did though.

"Hank," she said quietly, "Look I didn't mean...I just..."

She sighed.

"We never really talked about what happened with us on Cuba," she said.

"That's...that's not what this...look," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose, "This isn't me trying to get closure, because, one way or the other, I think we both know what happened with us."

"I'm not sure we do."

Hank tightened the pressure on the bridge of his nose.

"Look, how about I start from my end," he said, "I fell in love with a girl I thought understood me. You felt drawn to someone you thought got you. But we weren't..."

He turned away from the steering wheel, probably a bad idea, and looked at her. He looked at her golden eyes, firey hair and blue skin. But more than that, he smelt gunpowder and blood on her. Doubtless, some of it was from himself, but the way she wore it felt like an aura.

"I was trying to pretend to be completely normal when you met me," he said, "You were trying to do the same. It took me a while to figure this out, but that's how it is, okay? We didn't actually know the other person, and now we do. And now you're the person who flits in and out of our lives always asking for things and I'm the guy who gives them."

"Flattering picture you're painting of me," she said dryly.

Despite her tone, he couldn't help but snort.

"It's not a great picture I'm painting of myself either," said Hank, "I'm the pushover, the sucker. I made Cerebro blue. How pathetic is that? All because I missed that girl I could talk to, who I thought got me. We were trying to be other people, and we fell into the roles around each other. But it wasn't who we were."

Taking a deep breath, Hank looked glumly out at the horizon. The sun was starting to hurt his eyes, make them water. That was it. He thought of the broken pen in his hand after their last argument, of the ink on his fingers, on the table.

"So can we please just cut to the chase and talk about what you want?" he asked.

Again, there was a pause. Maybe she'd leave, decide it wasn't worth it. He wouldn't blame her if she did. Hank doubted hearing a lecture was what she had in mind when she'd come up to talk to him.

"I need to leave the school and I need your help to leave quietly," she said, "I figured out while I was on the mission with Kurt. I can't stay here. Especially not now-"

"Bullshit."

She started and, truth be told, so did Hank. The utter conviction in the wordsurprised even him.

"You don't understand," she said.

"Then for once in our long acquaintance, explain it to me," he said.

She looked behind her shoulder. It didn't take a genius, although Hank could have easily supplied one, to understand what she was thinking.

"Come on," said Hank, "This can't be because of Charles and Moira."

"I'm a blot on the picture, the bitter sister," said Raven.

"If you think that's bad now, wait until you leave just as he gets close to being happy," said Hank, "Has it ever occurred to you that leaving doesn't actually make problems better?"

"Fine words after you just let Charles check out after all those years," snapped Raven.

Scott let out a soft groan, and they both looked at him, neither making a sound. When he returned to sleep, Raven's eyes returned to him, blazing.

"We didn't have a lot of time to talk back when you told me, but you let him become this addict instead of telling him to get back in the saddle," she said, "You let him get to the point where he might have slit his own wrists in the night."

There were, he knew, several things he could've said. He could've told her that at least he'd been there when she'd been God knows where. Hank could've said it was a fine thing for her to say when she hadn't even visited him once in all those years, had actually left him shot on a beach in Cuba.

But, truthfully, her words weren't anything he hadn't already thought himself.

"And I hate myself for it," said Hank, "I...I wanted so badly to help, but I didn't know what to do. I was lost and I let him get lost too. That's how I repaid years of kindness."

He shook his head.

"Things without all remedy should be without regard: what's done, is done," he quoted, "But that doesn't mean I can't learn. I checked out with him for those years. I can't check out ever again."

Hank turned the wheel slightly, his mind gently tugging him back to when he'd stood in the doorway, congratulating Charles on his happiness. If, instead of letting him wallow, he'd helped him back up sooner, would it have been possible to congratulate him a decade ago? Longer perhaps?

Too late. All he could do was congratulate him now.

"You're part of that happiness he has right now, you know that right?" asked Hank, "We all are. I think you need to stop fighting all this. I don't know this for certain, but I don't think that's who you are."

"You said it yourself," she muttered, "You don't know me."

One of his hands clenched the steering wheel tighter. Softly, sadly, he said goodbye to the last part of him that was still a teenager.

"No," he agreed, "but I do think you'd regret leaving before you really thought about it. You said to me once, before all this started, that it pained you to think that Charles could've died and you wouldn't have spoken to him for years beforehand. Does that idea still pain you? How about the thought of never knowing your niece or nephew at all?"

Another thought struck him. It was going out on a bit of a limb, but not too much. Hank looked around, checking to make sure everyone was still asleep. Kurt wasn't there, and for that he was quite proud.

"And Kurt?" he asked, "Do you really want to leave your son behind?"

"Is it that goddamn obvious?" asked Raven.

"Sort of," he said, "But not to him, because that would be too much of a presumption in his mind. But...I think you owe it to yourself, to him too, to at least get to know him."

Raven looked down and, for a moment, he thought it had all been pointless. Her face was set, and her mouth was angry. But, even though he didn't know her, when she closed her eyes, he knew what her answer would be.

"Maybe I can stay for a while longer," she said.


	27. Chapter 27

"Kevin?"

Kevin looked up from his homework. He quickly covered it with his arms so Professor Singer wouldn't see there wasn't any actual work on it. It was filled with smudges and idle doodles. He'd tried to concentrate on it, he honestly had, but every time he tried his mind would wander to his mother and Charles.

Were they alright? He hadn't heard from them, and it had been three days now. A lot of the older students he'd come to think of as friends were gone too. He would lie awake at night, thinking about it. He'd watch as papers flew lazily around the room, as a few items rattled. Sometimes he'd gotten the urge to intensify the shaking, just to hear Charles ask him to be calm.

Not that he would. He was too far away.

"Something wrong?" he murmured.

"You have a phone call from Professor Xavier. The call's coming through in my office-"

He shoved himself out of his chair, knocking his pencils to the ground. Papers flew down onto the floor, and he knew the other children were staring at him, probably wondering what was up now.

Who cared? It wasn't as though they actually understood what was happening. Sam and Xi'an had been nice to him, and a few others had said they were sorry when his mom went missing. They'd been told to give him his space though. He was glad. He didn't want to talk to kids who were, more or less, strangers.

He ran past them all as he headed to the office. His feet were flying, but it was useless, slow. The phone was resting on Professor Singer's desk. He reached out with his hand and it flew into his fingertips.

Kevin cradled it to his head, breathing hard.

"Charles?" he asked.

"Kevin? Good," said Charles, "I was worried I'd miscalculated the time difference."

"Why?" asked Kevin, "Where are you? Did you find my mom?"

"I was worried because otherwise you would be sleeping, we're in England, and yes. Yes I did."

Tears started running down his face. He slumped to the ground, the chord of the phone tipping downward. Kevin curled around the receiver, rocking back and forth. He'd found her. He'd found her.

"She okay?" Kevin managed.

"Your mother is fine," said Charles, "Tired, and not without a few scrapes and bruises, but fine. We were able to locate her last night. I wasn't in a position to call then, but I would have if I could. And my...well, my gift wasn't quite in peak condition-"

"I know," sobbed Kevin, "I know you would've."

Charles would have, he knew, spared him any unnecessary pain. It was a soothing assurance, but his mind felt thick. His throat clogged up, and he shoved his tears away. She was alright. That meant things were going to be okay.

And England, how far away was England? He imagined a map, his mind focusing on the tiny island nation where Jane Austen had written her books. He could roughly figure out the miles. How many hours? Would they come by boat or by plane?

Kevin swallowed, forcing himself to slow down.

"Can I talk to her?" he asked.

"Yes, of course," said Charles, "She's just finishing a check-up with Dr. McCoy right now, just a precaution."

The last words were added in hurriedly. Kevin wanted to let him know he didn't need to bother. Charles had already told Kevin that his mother was alright, and that she wasn't hurt. That was enough. He wouldn't lie to him.

"She should be able to talk in a minute or two," said Charles, "And I know she wants to see you again."

Kevin curled up tighter, trying to keep his breathing down to a reasonable level. It still felt strange to know that the nightmare he'd been experiencing was really and truly ending. Soon, he would be able to talk to his mother. Soon after that, he would be able to see her.

After that, things would be amazing. They would all be at the school, and he was going to have the life that he'd been promised when she said they could stay. He could learn about his gifts, and maybe he could really make friends with Sam and Xi'an.

His mother would be there, and so would Charles. Charles would make her happy, and he would never lay a finger on her. He would never hurt her, not like his father had. He wouldn't hurt either of them.

"You're okay too, right?" Kevin asked.

He heard a soft chuckle on the other end.

"Kevin, I'm perfectly fine," he said, "No one was severely injured. We should be back in about sixteen hours. You'll be asleep when that happens-"

"I won't be asleep," Kevin said.

Another chuckle, but it wasn't mocking or dismissive.

"Of course you will," he said, "How's this: if you're asleep, I'll wake you up."

"Deal," said Kevin, "But you have to wake me up the minute you get here. No putting it off or anything like that. I'll even go to bed early, okay?"

"Okay," said Charles, "Okay. I promise."

There was a shuffling, and Kevin realized Charles was handing the phone to someone. His heart started to beat faster, and his palms began to sweat.

"Kevin?"

He bowed his head, his fingers clutching the phone so tightly he thought he'd snap it in half.

"I'm here mom," he wept.

* * *

Charles moved away from the phone as Moira spoke to her son. This conversation was private, and he knew Kevin needed to reassure himself that everything really was okay. Beyond that, Moira also needed to talk to her son for the sake of talking to him.

That was all this particular call was going to be for though. They'd discussed her pregnancy and Kevin briefly once Charles told her there was a phone on his plane. It had been his plan to let her call when they got to the house he owned, but Hank had made the decision to go straight to the tarmac instead. Moira had decided she wanted to tell him in person.

Now, as they waited for clearance, Hank was doing a few last minute checks on his patients before take-off. He'd finished with Moira, and asked Emma how she was feeling. Emma was answering him calmly, her hands clasped in her lap.

Laura was seated next to her, looking out the window in awe. She'd squealed when she saw the plane, either out of excitement or curiosity. She certainly was an inquisitive child, but it worried him just how little she seemed to know about things most children knew about at a very young age.

Then, in the back of the plane, he could see Kurt chatting amicably with Amanda. The young woman looked slightly nervous, her eyes darting around the plane. He wondered if she'd ever flown before.

Next to her, Megan looked rather excited, although he could also detect a whisper of nerves. The child had gone through a rough couple of days, and Raven had informed him that morning that the illusionists who'd held Moira and Emma were Megan's sisters. He supposed there was no point in telling her that at least one of them was confirmed as dead. Not until after he'd talked to her guardian in private.

However, they would need to talk. He rolled up next to Emma and Laura, clearing his throat. Emma turned slowly to him, her posture poised but also searching. There was something very tightly coiled about her, although, considering everything she'd been though, it was more than understandable.

"I wondered if I could talk to you about what you wanted to do after we landed in New York," he said.

Emma inclined her head. Laura turned away from the window, inching closer.

"I also wanted to know if I could have a moment of Miss Amanda and Miss Megan's time," he said, raising his voice.

Amanda jumped at the mention of her name, but quickly got up. He could see Kurt's face fall as she did so, but his expression became cheerful again when she turned around and smiled at him. Well well.

With Megan's hand in hers, Amanda walked up to Charles and Emma, taking a seat near them. Megan smiled shyly at Laura, who just shrank back a little further. To his surprise, Megan didn't seem too deterred by this: just curious.

Before speaking, Charles took a moment to look at the two groups in front of him. Despite their rather obvious differences, they were, more or less, in the same positions. Both were young women who were taking charge of a much younger child.

It would mean they were most likely smart to have made it this far. It was also likely they would be resourceful, independent and inclined to doubt any offer that seemed too good to be true. He knew that, when you were watching young children, any small mistake could cost everything.

"I wanted to ask what you planned to do when we reached New York," he said.

Amanda straightened, splaying her hands in her lap.

"I had a rather circuitous route planned out with the YMCA, a youth hostel, and a string of what would likely be low-paying jobs," she said, "But, um, Kurt says you have a school? For mutants?"

"I do," said Charles.

"What grades?" Emma asked shrewdly.

He looked at her in surprise. Her eyes were business-like, hard.

"So far, it's second grade through high school," he said, "The lower grades are mostly consolidated into one classroom."

"Laura will need tutoring," said Emma, "She's quite smart, but very behind. I may need tutoring as well: I was taken from school shortly before my fourteenth birthday. I want to become a teacher, and I will need to shore up my college application."

Again, he was surprised. Emma was speaking in the tones of someone who had been thinking about this for hours. Had she somehow known he'd had a school? Perhaps she had seen it in Moira's mind, he still remembered that the first time he'd met her had been during an interrogation session.

Still, if he closed his eyes and listened to her speak, she wouldn't have sounded like someone who had been locked up. She sounded like a young woman putting the finishing touches on a thesis paper.

"I might need a lot of tu-tor-ing?" Laura said, "I've never been in a school."

"You've never been in a school?" gasped Megan, "That's...I can't believe it!"

Emma tensed, and Charles coughed, getting ready to intervene. Megan was a kind girl, but he wasn't sure what would set the niece and aunt off.

"I'm so glad we didn't stay in Scotland!" Megan exclaimed, turning to Amanda, "That place sounds worse than Latveria!"

He saw Emma visibly relax. Laura just blinked.

"But, you'll go to a school in America," said Megan, "There's lots of lights and movie stars there. Maybe we'll even go to school together!"

Amanda smiled, but she licked her lips before turning to Charles.

"We don't have any money," she said, "Not really. I think there's $200 tops. And I know the school is for mutants, but -"

"Don't worry about it," said Charles, "On either account."

She looked surprised, but, when it came down to it, he really should have started integrating the school sooner than this. Things had always been in the way, but this was the perfect opportunity. In the end, the school wasn't meant as a hiding place for mutant for the rest of the world: just as a sanctuary.

"The same, of course, applies to you," said Charles, inclining his head to Emma.

"We accept," said Emma, "After all-"

She gave Megan an amused look.

"-we're going to be in America," she said, "Not Scotland."


	28. Chapter 28

The nudge in his head came around 1:30 a.m. Kevin wasn't sure how he'd managed to fall asleep that night, only that he had. His only priority now was getting downstairs as fast as he could.

Kevin jammed his feet into slippers and ran for the door. He took off down the hall, still picking sleep from his eyes. His feet felt fat and dazed, but slowing down wasn't an option.

 _She's in the library_ , Charles said.

He took the stairs two at a time. Kevin lost one of his slippers on his way down. He didn't go back for it, nor did he take the other one off to try and get some sort of balance. It didn't matter. Come to think of it, why did he even bother with the slippers in the first place?

The hallway seemed impossibly long. Kevin was actually surprised at how fast he could go. When he was younger, he all but failed his physical examinations in school. Softball games had made him strong, games his mother had taken him to, had cheered for him at.

He slid on the floor outside the library and yanked open the door. His eyes scanned the room, and immediately lit on his mother. She was seated on one of the couches, her head turned to him and her eyes wide.

Panting, he ran around the side of the couch and clambered into his mother's arms. She held him tightly, whispering his name. Her head leaned on his, her auburn hair tickling his face.

Kevin didn't say anything. He didn't ask if she was alright. He'd already been told. His mother cared about Charles: she wouldn't have lied to him about whether or not she was alright. She also cared about him. She wouldn't have told Charles to lie to him for her.

For the longest time, neither of them spoke. Kevin closed his eyes, her hand slowly stroking the back of his neck. It was soothing, and yet also familiar.

He tried to remember if they had ever done this before. A memory surfaced of a night spent in the hospital on a cot next to her bed after his father had stabbed her with a piece of a plate. The doctors had said Kevin shouldn't be there. He was too young, they said.

Levine had told him he was Kevin's guardian at the moment, and if he wanted to stay with his mother, then he could. He'd said he wanted to, and Levine told the doctors where they could stick it. So Kevin had spent the night by his mother's side.

When she'd woken up from the anesthesia, he'd leaned over and rested his head on her pillow. She'd smiled and stroked his head, smiling softly. He hadn't spoken, because he'd already known she was hurt. He'd also known who'd done it, and the dislike, disgust and fear he felt at the sight of his father had turned to utter hatred.

But this wasn't then. Again, he thought about the school, about Charles. His mother was going to stay at the school, and she wasn't going to have a job that would take her far away from him again. She would stay right there, and Charles wouldn't hurt her. Charles even liked Kevin, although Kevin didn't know how he would feel about being called dad. Maybe that would have to wait for a while.

He felt himself start to drift off, and he bit his lip to make sure he stayed awake. The movement made his mother look down, and Kevin shifted so she could see him. One of her hands continued to rest on the back of his head, and he managed a smile.

"I love you mom," he said.

"I love you too," she said, "I'm so happy to see you."

"Me too," Kevin said.

He leaned against her. She shifted again.

"I think you're missing a slipper," she said.

"Dunno," replied Kevin.

She chuckled, her voice low.

"You are," she said, "I guess it doesn't really matter."

"No," Kevin said, "But it's all okay. You're here. I can show you where my classroom is, and you can meet some of my classmates."

He perked up at the thought of that. Xi'an had said she wanted to go into the military someday. His mother had been in the CIA, so they would probably get a long really well. She'd get along with Sam because Sam pretty much got on with everyone.

"How are classes going?" she asked.

"Good," said Kevin, "Some of the kids are jerks, but not all of them. I think I'm close to having friends. At least, there are two people who are friendly, and I think that if I try, I can be friends with them."

He just hadn't been trying while she had gone. He couldn't see how something as trivial as friendships were important when his mother's life were in danger. But now that she was alright, that changed things.

"I'm glad," his mother said.

"We can just do exactly what we wanted to do before everything happened," he said, "You're still quitting the CIA, right?"

She chuckled again.

"Kevin, I handed in my two weeks notice around a month ago," she said, "I think I'm officially retired."

"Awesome," said Kevin.

He let his eyelids drift slightly. He wasn't sure why he was this tired, he'd gone to bed early and everything, but maybe it was just his luck. Running full speed down the length and breadth of the school probably didn't help.

"And then we can do everything else," he said, "We were gonna stay here, remember? And you'll get a job here? Just like we planned. Nothing about that's changed, right?"

His mother smiled, although she swallowed slightly.

"Well, most things haven't changed," she said.

Kevin frowned, but she didn't sound upset. She just sounded nervous.

"We're still staying here, right?" he asked.

"Yes, of course," she said, "Everything you said is right, except the part about nothing being different."

"That's…good," Kevin said.

He cocked his head, and his mother sighed.

"I just…this is harder than I thought it would be," she said.

He blinked at her, trying to figure out just what she was talking about. Kevin licked his lips.

"I'm much better with my gifts," he said, "You could think it, and I could hear it if it's difficult."

A shadow of alarm passed over her face, and he was reminded of that day when she'd told him she and Charles were together. She hadn't wanted him in her head either, for reasons she'd assured him he'd understand in a few years.

But, that meant he knew what this was about.

"So, you and Charles?" he asked, "You two are still together, right?"

* * *

There was a thread of worry in her son's voice that touched her. He really did like Charles. However, she had no intention of letting him think that they weren't together any longer. Besides, the idea of breaking up right after what had happened on the boat was so ridiculous that she couldn't stop her laughter.

Sensing the mood change, Kevin started smiling next to her.

"No," she said, "That's not going to change. But…what I'm trying to say is…do you remember when you were younger, and you asked if you could have a younger brother?"

Kevin frowned. Moira remembered it clearly. Kevin had been five, almost six, and she had told him she didn't think it was likely. She'd already stopped being intimate with Joe, the idea of letting him touch her was revolting by that point, but it had broken her heart that Kevin wanted siblings.

He'd had so few friends after all.

"Yeah," said Kevin, "I thought it would be fun."

"Well," she said, "You might get your wish."

His frown deepened.

"You just might get a sister instead of a brother," she said.

He looked around, as though a stork might fly through the window any minute now, a baby in its beak. She winced. He was too young to explain the birds and the bees to, and she certainly wasn't going to start because of this.

Maybe she could edit it until two years from now?

"I don't...I don't get how," he said.

"Well," she said, "When a man and a woman love each other very, very much, sometimes the result is a child. And, right now, I'm...I'm pregnant with your little brother or sister."

His eyes widened, and he moved a little closer. She knew he understood the concept of pregnancy from the myriad of books he read, although not the lead up.

"So the baby is Charles's?" he said.

"Yes," Moira said.

A small grin broke out on his face.

"I'm glad he loves you that much," he said, "And I'm glad you love him too."

His grin broadened.

"Jane Austen," he said.

Tears built up in her eyes, remembering the way Charles had held her on the boat, the longing in his eyes as he asked her what she wanted. She smiled and reached out, gently tucking some of Kevin's hair behind his ear.

"He loves you too you know," Moira said.

Kevin's eyes lit up, and he wrapped his arms around her. She stroked the back of his head again. There were still a few difficulties, including smoothing everything over in the CIA concerning her reappearance. There'd be a way to handle that somewhere, and then there was what they'd found in Scotland.

But, for now, she knew that, if nothing else, the future for her, for Charles, her son, her baby, was one full of love.

* * *

Charles wheeled down the hallway. His arms were exhausted, and he was tired enough to sleep for days. That wouldn't be an option, not with everything else going on, but it was certainly a rather tempting suggestion.

He turned another hallway. Somewhere, Kevin was being reunited with his mother. Maybe he already knew about his future brother or sister. It wasn't an easy thing to explain, but Moira had insisted on doing it by herself. Like the news of their relationship, she believed it would be best coming from her.

He'd wondered how she was going to explain the child to an eight-year-old who he doubted knew where babies actually came from. They weren't married, so she couldn't use that explanation. However, she was Kevin's mother, and she was smart. He trusted she would figure something out, and he had plans to change that particular aspect of their situation.

Charles smiled to himself as he approached Cerebro. It was easy to key in the passcode, see it open in the familiar X pattern. He made the rest of the trip by himself, and it took him longer than he would've liked to boot up the machine. He'd thought about asking Hank, but he deserved his rest.

As he placed the helmet over his head, he thought about the last few days. Yes, he had found Moira, had brought her and their unborn child safely home. They'd even managed to save two other young children, and help two refugees. No one had been killed on their team, no severe injuries.

However, Emma and Laura's predicament raised questions, one that couldn't be solved by giving them a safe haven and a hot meal. Emma had been kidnapped, along with her sister, tortured and experimented on. Laura might have been snatched at the moment of her birth, judging on her naivety about the world.

Then there was the whole reason for this situation in the first place. Essex had wanted to take Charles's unborn child. He'd been originally after Moira for her research. Why? Why did he need more information about the X-gene? He'd had a prototype of Cerebro, which meant he was very clever. It made him a formidable threat.

This would not stand. Essex and, by association, Stryker, could not be allowed to operate unchecked despite whatever power they held in the world of law and order. It was why they had started the X-men after all. He wasn't just running a school, and that meant certain other services could be offered.

He reached out with his mind, searching. Hopes and dreams filed past him, thousands upon thousands of people. For that night though, he was only looking for one man. Despite how grim the situation was, he found himself smiling when he found him.

 _Charles?_

 _Yes old friend,_ Charles said, _I'm sorry to disturb you, but we need to talk._

* * *

 _A/N: And that's "Sinister" everyone! Thank you all for reading and reviewing! The next story, "A friend in need," will be out in a week._

 _This has been a great fic to write. I actually enjoy using elements from "Origins." That was a bad movie, I'm not arguing that, but there were flecks of brilliance about it. As for Laura's appearance, it's been a while since I wrote anything with her as a character. But the minute they pulled that vial at the end of Apocalypse, I thought of her._

 _I also wanted to try and give Hank and Raven a little bit of closure, because he's been putting two and two together since their talks in "On a beach in Cuba." But I also wanted to look at Raven's relationship with her son. It's painful for her, given her life and everything she's lost, to be around him like this but, as Hank pointed out, leaving right now would be catastrophic._

 _I got a few questions about whether or not Erik would be in this fic. I had to inform anyone who asked that, more or less, he wouldn't be. I wasn't counting his slight appearance at the end. For those who do, my apologies. But he'll have an actual role in the next story._

 _Finally, Charles/Moira. What else do I need to say? I've never really had them in this position, and that was why Chapter 22 was such a joy to write. I really wanted to see a situation where Charles would let go of his powers. I figured that this situation qualified._

 _Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed! Also, someone left a comment that they were a labor and delivery nurse. They didn't sign their review though, which means I can't message them back. So, in answer to your question, yes, I would like pointers. Just message me._

 _And, for my special shoutouts:_ _Coyote Blues, whose portrayal of Mystique never failed to inspire me, knightphoenix2, brigid1318, jguti210, savedbygrace94, BROSMP, and whoever it is who signs their reviews as Hi! See you all in a week!  
_


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